


Hunter and Gatherer

by Skullharvester



Series: Current WIPs [2]
Category: Baldur's Gate, Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, baldur's gate 3
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:33:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 121,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27426514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skullharvester/pseuds/Skullharvester
Summary: The ongoing raunchy, debaucherous, and often sweet love story between Astarion, the emotionally tortured vampire spawn, and Elganon, a reclusive and shy warlock with skeletons of his own in his closet, who is just plain emotional.
Relationships: Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Current WIPs [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120226
Comments: 70
Kudos: 115





	1. Hunter and Gatherer

**Author's Note:**

> This is a series that's nearing its conclusion, and it will probably be revamped by the time Baldur's Gate 3 is fully released and I've played it.
> 
> Enjoy and have fun!
> 
> If you liked this tale, please drop me a kudos and/or a comment to let me know if you'd like to see more!
> 
> Thank you, and have a wonderful night!

* * *

* * *

“You know, I’ve never seen you eat meat,” Astarion mused aloud while he watched Elganon nibble at a handful of leafy greens the strange half-elf had scavenged from… somewhere in this wretched forest. 

He honestly wasn’t sure how Elganon could tell one plant from another in the wilderness, much less trust eating it raw; they all looked the same to him. If he had to rely on foraging for sustenance as Elganon did, he’d probably starve.

Actually, it was _certain_ he’d starve. Astarion was a vampire, after all. Strange… After two hundred years of being accustomed to that fact, lately he sometimes found himself forgetting what he was—that he wasn’t just a mere high elf anymore. 

A few day ago, he’d confessed his true nature to Elganon (embarrassingly, _after_ trying and failing to take just a small drink from the half-elf without his knowledge while he slept) and instead of waking the rest of their group to come and help ram a stake through his heart, the warlock stammered, “Oh, I already knew. It was fairly obvious when we met – no offense.”

To Astarion’s utter shock, Elganon not only _willingly_ offered him a bit of his blood to cure his faintness after that humiliating ordeal, but also continued to treat him… perfectly normal, as if he were just like anyone else. Granted, he did occasionally bring up a question or two about the nature of Astarion’s vampirism, but it was nothing insulting. In fact, they were typically questions about how things could be made more accommodating to Astarion’s particular needs.

It was funny: When Astarion first met this man, he thought he’d found a kindred spirit in their shared penchant for doing whatever it took to look out for themselves first and foremost, but the more time he spent with the warlock, the more he noticed they had much more in common than that alone. So much in common – to an eerie degree, despite Astarion originally believing they were almost as different as night and day.

_Perhaps we’re soulmates_ , Astarion thought to himself sarcastically, although a small part of him lingered on the potential of that idea.

Elganon swallowed the pinch of vegetation he had popped into his mouth. It took him an awfully long time to chew such small amounts of food, and admittedly that annoyed Astarion for some inexplicable reason. Maybe it was because he looked like a simple-minded grazing sheep when he ate. A very adorable little sheep—one with black wool—that…

Astarion needed to stop dwelling on silly thoughts, because it often caused much of what Elganon said to go through one ear and out the other.

“I’m sorry, what? My mind wandered for a moment,” said Astarion, pulling his attention back to the here and now.

Elganon tittered and answered, “I-It’s alright. What I said was: I don’t eat meat. Well, I suppose I would if I had absolutely no choice, but it’s difficult when you’re able to talk to animals. It just would feel awkward, you know? At least for me it would be, at any rate.”

Astarion blinked, wondering if he heard correctly. “You… You can talk to animals?” The warlock nodded. “So, let me get this straight: Not only do you commune with demons and devilkin, but also with woodland creatures, too.”

“And the dead,” the half-elf added helpfully. “Err… Most of the time. Some corpses aren’t very talkative, sadly.”

Why was Astarion not surprised? Alright, he was a tiny bit, but he noticed he found himself becoming less and less skeptical of everything unusual about the other man.

“It’s hard not to find it ironic that, for a hermit, you’re quite the supernatural social butterfly,” Astarion admitted, flashing his fangs in a sly grin.

Elganon smiled back. Astarion took some personal pride in knowing he was one of the few people who got to see such a rare sight, recalling that once, at best, Elganon’s face used to only twitch in threat of breaking his perpetually fearful and sulky demeanor to permit some other fleeting emotion.

Breaking the silence, Elganon stowed the rest of his food away in his pack and murmured bashfully, “Yes, I know that I’m strange.” Looking back up into the vampire’s crimson eyes, the warlock felt a now familiar tingle at the back of his mind. Speaking of odd forms of communication, the Illithid tadpoles squirming around their brains was in the process of linking up their thoughts again, if only briefly.

_I like your strangeness._

A gasp hitched in Astarion’s throat. “I didn’t mean to share that thought. Sorry,” he blurted out. Why was he apologizing? He was frequently flirtatious with everyone. Elganon’s perplexed gaze seemed to indicate he was wondering the same thing.

Astarion sprung to his feet, peering around past the edge of the campsite where he and the warlock typically congregated most nights. His focus locked onto the forest where he swore that he heard twigs snapping far off in the distance. 

“I believe I’m going for a walk to clear my head,” he said, which was code for going out to hunt for an animal to feed upon again. He took a few steps towards the trees, but then paused and glanced back over his shoulder. “Are there any animal friends of yours out here that I ought to know about? Knowing what I know now, I don’t want to make things awkward.”

Elganon chuckled, yanking out small strands of grass beside where he was sitting on the ground. Astarion, for a moment, worried he was about to start eating it like the rabbit he pretended to be. “This might sound heartless of me, but unlike us humanoids, animals are quite content with their role in the natural cycle of life, for the most part. They feel fear and dread, yes, but most are fully aware that surely as they are born, they shall die one day, typically at the hands – or fangs – of another creature.” He got teary-eyed at his own words, but that was nothing abnormal; emotions came all too easily to the warlock.

“Fair enough,” Astarion said with a nod. “…Although…” He sighed. “Should I try to control myself enough to let them live? Take small bites, and then turn them loose again?” He never thought he’d be going to anyone for moral guidance. He typically just did whatever his whims desired at any given time.

The hermit considered this for a long time before answering, making a bald patch in the dirt by the time that he was done mulling it over. “That would just mean you’d have to bite many creatures every night just to get your fill, and having holes in the neck of every local animal would draw too much suspicion from the people that live in this area. 

“I have a better idea, Astarion: Since you leave the animals completely drained of blood, that could be useful to the other members of our party. You could start bringing the bodies back to our camp, and those corpses could be prepared and cooked for the others who _do_ eat meat. The animals being bloodless already makes that a simpler task.”

Elganon’s pragmatism never failed to surprise Astarion. “But would that be safe? For our companions, I mean. The meat wouldn’t be tainted, would it?”

“If that were the case, I’d be diseased by your bite,” said Elganon with a hint of amusement.

“True, but I wanted to be sure. You’re our medicine expert, after all,” replied Astarion, who was now pacing with his hands on his hips. “I should really get going; I’m feeling dizzy with hunger.” 

The other man got up and approached him, and he knew without the tadpole what Elganon’s expectant stare meant. Astarion reached out a hand to caress the slowly healing holes already on the warlock’s neck and felt a rush of excitement at the sensation of the half-elf’s pulse against his fingertips. He suddenly withdrew his hand, as if it burned.

“I can’t,” said Astarion, gnawing on his own lip anxiously.

He wasn’t sure if Elganon was aware of it, but the first time he was offered a taste of the man’s blood, he could barely control his primal urges. If Elganon hadn’t asked him to stop, he might never have. The taste of his melancholy essence was intoxicating, and he discovered that Elganon was right when he said that there was something addictive and strangely satisfying to the indulgence of sorrowful emotions; the bittersweet flavor of Elganon’s blood coupled with his soft, pitiful whimpers of discomfort left Astarion in ecstasy.

Astarion wasn’t sure when it happened, but at some point, while he was reminiscing, his own mouth found its way to the wounds in Elganon’s neck. His sharp teeth grazed against the tender flesh and though he wasn’t piercing the skin, the half-elf mewled in a way that sent shivers down his spine. He ran his tongue along the scabs that protected the sealed holes, getting a faint taste of dried blood.

Just one more bite… One more, and he’d never do this again to the poor creature.

Elganon held onto him tightly as he braced for the inevitable to happen. The icy, needle-like fangs sank deep, and drank just as deeply. Though it wasn’t as painful as the first time, it still hurt badly. He buried his face into the vampire’s curly platinum blonde hair to muffle the weeping that came; he didn’t want to wake their companions and cause alarm.

Astarion rubbed the warlock’s back comfortingly, returning his embrace. With his eyes shut tight, his mind floated away in the moment. His thoughts swam at the heady taste of the half-elf’s blood. It was hard to think cohesively.

_Good… So good… Happy… Loved…_

That was the strangest part about this exchange. Drinking Elganon’s blood the first time awakened something within him, but when he drank from other humanoids afterwards, nothing mimicked the feeling he had when he drank from the half-elf. It wasn’t the same. It lacked that odd feeling of intimacy and closeness he shared with the man in his arms right now.

Elganon made him feel loved. With others, Astarion merely took, but this was a gift given willingly—one that said: _I will sustain you_.

Astarion’s eyes fluttered open and he whined like a babe torn from its mother’s breast when Elganon pried him off his bloodied neck. “Mmph… More,” he pleaded, unaware of how much he had drunk already. He licked the blood from his lips and leaned back in to lap up the precious vitae that oozed from the bite, so desperate for more that he wasn’t even a little considerate of how sensual his actions were.

Elganon’s quickened heartbeat only served to make the blood flow more freely from his wounds, but he grabbed onto Astarion’s arms and attempted feebly to push him away. They struggled for a moment, until Astarion’s leg brushed too close between the warlock’s thighs and discovered that he was crossing more than just one line.

Sobered by surprise, Astarion backed off, releasing Elganon and clearing his throat, finding it difficult to make eye-contact even though he found himself chuckling at the embarrassing predicament. Elganon, who was utterly mortified, apparently didn’t find it as humorous.

“My, my,” purred the vampire, wiping the thin layer of saliva from his own lips with a finger. “I didn’t realize I excited you as much as you excite me.”

Elganon’s mouth tried several times to form words, and eventually all he could say was, “I-I’m not used to that sort of physical closeness.” His face reddened. “I couldn’t help—"

With wide eyes, a devilish smile spread across Astarion’s face, and Elganon could see that his teeth glistened a pale red in the moonlight. “ _You’re a virgin!?_ Oh, of _course_ you are! That explains so much.” The vampire laughed again, especially when the warlock got even more flustered. He was cute when he was embarrassed.

He cupped the warlock’s smooth chin in his palm, stroking at his silky pink lips with a thumb, enjoying their warmth beneath his cold touch. Elganon was nearly breathless, his eyes glistening with impassioned tears. “Mm, if you resent that so much, I could relieve you of your cumbersome innocence, you know. I wouldn’t mind.” But the alure of the moment was ruined by the growling of Astarion’s stomach. “…After I get a little more to eat first.”

Elganon, being shorter than the other man, had to reach up to grip the frills around Astarion’s collar. When Astarion peered down curiously, it looked like the warlock was fussing over the blood that had stained the white fabric, but really Elganon was trying to get a tight enough grip to pull him down for a kiss.

Astarion was baffled that the meek little half-elf suddenly found the stones to forcefully push his back against the nearest tree and wriggle his tongue deep into his parted mouth, but gods was it thrilling. It seemed he wasn’t the only one who had an unsated hunger, though Elganon’s was of a very different nature. Astarion could only imagine how difficult it must have been to live such a chaste life up until now. He suspected that it would be quite fun to corrupt Elganon’s purity.

The half-elf panted for air when he finally broke the kiss, whimpering, sighing, and still feeling the tingle on his lips. He wanted to do it again right away, but he remembered that Astarion needed further nourishment first. If he could have given it to him from his own body, he would, but Elganon knew his own limits; giving any more blood in one night could prove to be fatal.

“I’ll help you hunt,” he said to Astarion, taking one chilly hand into his own and entwining their fingers together. “I’ll lure them, so that it’ll be easier for you. I know you can handle hunting on your own, but I want to go with you.”

The unexpected offer was touching to the vampire. He was so accustomed to doing this alone. No one ever helped him with anything, especially not since his transformation into a creature of the night. This particularly entertained Astarion, as when they first met, Elganon refused to help him because he didn’t trust him. It was true that at the time, he was trying to trick the half-elf, but how quickly things had changed between them!

“Are you sure you’ll be able to handle that?” asked Astarion, knowing that having to partake in the killing of animals would make Elganon cry.

The warlock seemed to read his mind. That must have been the tadpole’s doing again. “Astarion, if I didn’t cry, the few moments in which I feel happy wouldn’t mean anything to me. It’s because I cry so often that I have a deeper appreciation for those rare times.” His heart fluttered when the vampire’s hand squeezed his tighter, as if to tell him that everything would be alright.

“Astarion?”

“Hm?”

Elganon couldn’t bring himself to wait. He kissed him again.

_Happy… Loved…_

This time, it was hard to tell whose thoughts those were.

* * *

The moment the other members of their party had withdrawn to their tents, Elganon snuck off to meet with Astarion near his own, always pitched in the most secluded area of their campsite wherever they stayed for the night.

He found Astarion laying with his back against a fallen log, gazing up at the twinkling stars above. Surprisingly, he didn’t hear or see the half-elf approach, and was taken by surprise when Elganon pounced on top of him, clinging to his embroidered shirt and nestling the side of his head against the vampire’s chest.

“Oof! Warn me next time before you do that, will you?” Astarion requested with a chuckle and a toothy smile, tousling the young warlock’s raven black hair, and then cradling the back of his head while making a slight rocking motion with the rest of his body as he held the smaller man close.

He knew this was Elganon’s favorite time of the day, and honestly it was his as well. Neither were sure if the rest of their team were aware of the romantic relationship that had blossomed between them, yet it was their unspoken agreement to keep it private outside of Astarion’s usual penchant for playful flirting. Not out of shame, but because it was nobody’s business but their own. 

No one else need be involved in their private affairs together, although once Astarion said in jest that the other warlock in their party, Wyll, should join them one night for a little fun. He’d never seen Elganon look so spiteful before. It was only a joke! But after discovering that Elganon had a jealous side, Astarion made it a point to invoke it often because he loved the eager attention it got him from the half-elf. He just hoped that Elganon didn’t take his actions too seriously; he didn’t want to break the poor thing’s already fragile heart.

Elganon was now planting kisses all along his vampiric lover’s jawline, making Astarion feel worshipped. To show his pleasure, he began nibbling on the edge of the warlock’s pointed ear, being mindful of the sharpness of his own teeth. His beloved took this as a signal of peckishness.

“Ow~! Not from there,” Elganon pleaded, giggling slightly. “My ears are too sensitive. Don’t bite me there.”

Astarion stopped, closing his mouth, and rubbed his lips along the flushed part of Elganon’s ear where he had been nipping. “Mmm~? Where, then, shall I bite you, my pet?” He took one of the warlock’s soft hands into his own, then brought the wrist up to his mouth, hovering his large fangs over the bulging vein at the center experimentally while observing his lover’s reaction.

“Not there, either! My wrists are very thin, and I wouldn’t be able to use that hand for days after,” said Elganon.

“Well I can’t keep drawing blood from your neck. The others are bound to notice all the holes eventually,” Astarion replied, smirking. He turned Elganon’s hand over and kissed his knuckles, which he also began to graze his teeth against impatiently.

Then, a perverse idea crossed his mind. He flipped the warlock over so that he was laying on his back on top of him, and spread his legs with a hand, resting his palm on Elganon’s inner thigh. “There’s a nice vein here,” he purred into the half-elf’s ear, which turned more scarlet on its own at hearing the suggestion.

“A-Astarion, you know how I feel about… About doing _that_ so close to the camp. What if someone heard us?” Elganon swallowed hard, making a halfhearted attempt to shut his legs. It only made things worse, as it brought Astarion’s hand down between them. Now it wasn’t just his thigh that the vampire was cupping and massaging delicately. He moaned weakly as he was palmed slowly and methodically through his light leather trousers.

“ _What do you mean_?” Astarion asked irritably, grazing and licking at the warlock’s neck in the hopes of wearing down his will to resist his affections. “If we were any further from our party than this, we’d be in another country.”

_Must I really drag you further out than this?_

_Yes. And you’ll have to do more than just nibble on me this time around. I want to be romanced. Please?_

_Oh, very well._

Dratted tadpole. Even though reading one another’s thoughts had become commonplace, Astarion still forgot that his thoughts were not always private.

Just to be a brat, Astarion gave his partner one final squeeze that made him cry out in desire (and a bit of pain, too, Astarion suspected, but he found that, amusingly, Elganon _liked_ pain) before releasing him and allowing the half-elf to roll off of him and clumsily get to his feet.

Astarion stretched out his legs himself, then placed his hands on his hips and rocked on his heels aloofly. “So, where are we going for our little date, then?”

Elganon adjusted the belt of his pants with an uncomfortable grimace and sighed. “Why don’t we go down to the lake we saw on the way here? I could really use a cold bath right about now…”

Astarion raised an eyebrow. “I thought the whole point was that we were going to have sex,” he said bluntly.

Elganon bridged the gap between them and pressed a finger against Astarion’s puffy shirt. “In due time.”

Although at times, Astarion enjoyed a bit of foreplay himself, sometimes he found himself missing the earliest days of their love affair, which was only a short while ago. If they were still in that stage of their romance, Elganon might have been just as content to be bent over the log by his tent and ravished senseless until drawn broke. Now Astarion had to work for it. He _hated_ hard work.

Folding his arms and putting on a petulant scowl, Astarion grumbled, “ _Fine_ , but there’d better not be any running water. You know that it still burns like acid to me.”

Elganon smiled sweetly and stood on his tiptoes to kiss Astarion on the cheek. That cheered the brooding vampire up _a little bit_. “The water there is perfectly still, I assure you.”

The vampire turned his head back to face the warlock and smirked wickedly. “It won’t be when we’re in it together.” He waggled his pale eyebrows, making Elganon blush.

“Oh, stop it.”

“ _Never._ ”

* * *

When Astarion lowered his head between Elganon’s bare thighs, he felt he had won his prize. _Finally_ , he was _starving_ at this rate. He couldn’t wait, or even be bothered to do a little more teasing before he bit into the half-elf’s tender inner thigh. Besides, he trusted that between the warlock’s present arousal, the suckling that was going on so close to his sensitive manhood, and the tickle of the vampire’s curly hair as it brushed against his sensitive bits would be enough to keep Elganon excited.

But instead, he felt fear course through his partner’s veins. Panic. And then he heard the pained whimpers. What was Elganon’s problem?

“As-Astarion,” Elganon whimpered in between deep and steady breaths taken to calm himself as best as he could. “Just so you know, that’s a major artery you bit into, not just a vein. Be careful.”

Astarion was no physician, so he didn’t understand the big deal. “So?” he grunted without removing his teeth, drinking deeply of the blood that flowed freely. 

He enjoyed this more than going for the neck. The flesh was much softer and easier to penetrate and latch onto. Not to mention he enjoyed the warmth and sensuality of having the other man’s flagging erection rub against the side of his head. He leaned into it, not particularly caring for now that precum was getting into his hair that was already damp from the water in the lake they’d just gone swimming in.

Elganon’s fingernails dug into the blanket he laid on, having taken it, a bottle of wine, an oil lamp, and a vial of lubricant he’d crafted himself for their little nighttime diversion. His face was flush as he whined and bucked against the gentle friction, wanting for more. Astarion humored him by curling his dainty fingers around his stiff member, pumping it delicately and brushing the pad of his thumb over the tip of the shaft, circling the parting foreskin before rolling it back to get better access to the sensitive head. 

It would either draw more blood to the warlock’s southern region, which was to the vampire’s benefit, or take the precious blood away from the spot where he was drinking; he wasn’t sure, but was willing to experiment. At the very least, it would cause his lover to make more of those desperate mewling noises that were like music to his elven ears.

“Alright, Astarion, that’s enough blood,” Elganon said breathlessly, but the delightful icy pain brought on by the man’s fangs made his member pulse with desire, giving his partner who could sense that mixed signals.

Astarion moaned into his thigh needily, tightening his grip on Elganon’s length until a thick clear bead rolled from the top, and soon another. Even the half-elf’s cock wept openly. “Mmnh…”

“Please no more, Astarion. I’m going to faint,” Elganon warned, sniffling and trying to push his head away, fearful of ripping open his skin any further.

Astarion didn’t pay his begging any mind, until Elganon was sobbing hysterically. Then he took his pleas more seriously and lifted his head up, using his other hand to press down on the dribbling open wound in the thigh to halt the bleeding. His other hand continued to play with the tip of the warlock’s member to keep his arousal from waning entirely.

“Shhh… Forgive me, darling. I thought you were only toying with me. I’ll stop,” said the vampire, though he was admittedly disappointed to have to do so. He wished he could have taken more. The more he drank, the further it pushed him into his own arousal.

As if to make things up to his lover, Astarion dipped his head down and began fellating his partner, careful to use only the soft parts of his mouth as much as he possibly could. Occasionally his teeth could be felt, but the organ in his mouth was so hard that the sensation wasn’t all too unpleasant.

It wasn’t as good as sucking blood, but the other, less abundant salty substance that entered his mouth would have to do for now. Elganon didn’t ejaculate yet – it was too soon for that; for a male, he took an abnormally long time to cum. Perhaps all the crying influenced his libido? It was difficult to say.

Astarion shot his companion a subtle glare when Elganon held too tightly onto his fluffy hair, forcing his head down at a faster rate, thinking it inconsiderate and ungrateful. Elganon’s mind was too lost to passion to pick up on that thought. That figured. Alas, Astarion tried to pick up the pace on his own, bobbing his head up and down as quickly as it would go without making himself so dizzy that he might expel all the hard-earned blood he’d just sampled.

Just when he thought the half-elf was about to climax, his head was held in place, forced to cease his humiliatingly sloppy ministrations. What now?

Elganon helped him up into a sitting position on his knees, then got on all fours himself, presenting himself like a wild animal and ignoring the fact that blood was still rolling down his thigh.

Gods, if only the people Astarion knew back in Baldur’s Gate could see the kind of romantic escapades he got himself into these days: Fucking a socially unaware half-breed in the wilderness like they were a couple of stray mutts, with no question as to who was the bitch. It was utterly scandalous, but surprisingly stimulating. Now he sort of wished his vampiric master could be here just to be forced to watch this tragic disaster of lovemaking.

Astarion gave Elganon a firm smack on the rear and said, “I’ve really turned you into a little slut, haven’t I? Dirty boy. Go on, then: Beg for your master.” When Elganon only whimpered pathetically and shook his backside, the vampire reached between his legs and grabbed him by the balls, jostling them playfully. “Do you want me inside of you, or don’t you? I can easily finish myself off and walk back to the camp on my own while you roll around in the dirt fiddling with yourself futilely for the rest of the night.”

He knew that, despite Elganon’s outward sniveling, the half-elf got a rise out of being spoken to that way when they had sex. For Astarion, it was a bit much, but the fact that it had results was all that really mattered.

Misunderstanding the vampire’s wording, Elganon stammered, “I-I thought you didn’t like it when I talked to my demonic patron when we made love.”

“When I said master, I meant _me_ , sweetheart.”

_Adorable fool._

_That was uncalled for, Astarion! And my patron wouldn’t like you referring to yourself as my master. He doesn’t mind you, but he feels it oversteps our boundaries._

_Ugh. Alright, if you promise to get out of my head for the next few moments, we’ll call it even and I’ll get into you._

_Deal._

Astarion reached for the vial of lubricant that Elganon brought along with them, uncorked it to place a generous amount on his palm, and stroked himself until he was as ready as he would ever be. He almost forgot to apply some of the viscous concoction to Elganon’s entrance, until his partner helpfully reminded him the moment the warlock felt the tip press against his hole prematurely.

Elganon could have allowed the vampire to finger him for the next hour, but realistically he knew that Astarion wouldn’t have the patience for that, as pleasant as that might have been. He sank low to the ground, grabbing fistfuls of the blanket, when he was mounted and penetrated, slowly at first, and after they were both adjusted to the sensation, Astarion’s pace hastened. 

The warlock was still a very tight fit. When Astarion was inside him for the first time, he had no trouble believing that he’d never been with another man before, at least not on the receiving end. He doubted that the half-elf was even capable of getting himself off; he was that inexperienced.

Their positions shifted several times over the course of their love making, until eventually Elganon was on his back with his legs tightly wrapped around the vampire’s middle. Well, that certainly stopped the bleeding, but the problem was that it was making Astarion feel numb.

_Not so tight._

But either Elganon remained true to his word that he wouldn’t invade Astarion’s mind for a little while, or he simply didn’t care to obey. And why would he? He was thoroughly enjoying himself, from the look of things. His head was tilted back towards the moonlight that glimmered down from the parting of the tree boughs above, his heart was pounding, his nipples were tight pink little bulbs on his heaving chest as sighs and yelps of pleasure slipped from his lips, and his cock was ground against his lover’s chiseled abdomen with each heavy thrust.

Elganon draped his arms around Astarion’s neck, bringing him down to crush their lips together, parting his mate’s with his curious tongue to taste his own blood. Their tongues lashed together messily, and then they began to suck and nibble on each other’s lips until Astarion came inside of the other man.

Astarion continued to rut against his partner and jerked on Elganon’s cock until he finished as well, and even then, he didn’t stop for another few moments. With a relieved sigh, the vampire raked his teeth along the front of his beloved’s neck, down to his collar bone where he bit the flesh just enough to leave tiny pinprick-sized holes that he lapped little dots of blood from. He would then go down to clean the dried blood between Elganon’s legs with his tongue, serenaded by the half-elf’s appreciative whines.

If his influence had turned Elganon into his personal little whore, the hermetic warlock’s influence made him into an animal – a complete and utter beast.

He’d never felt so alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Here we go again. We're sick like animals. We play pretend. You're just a cannibal, and I'm afraid I won't get out alive. No, I won't sleep tonight."
> 
> Recommended Listening: Animal by Neon Trees


	2. The Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After arriving back to Baldur’s Gate, Astarion and the rest of the party are introduced to his lover’s very strange family, and find themselves living with them during their stay in the city. By the end of this, they may all wish they’d just scrounged up the gold to stay at an inn.

“Here we are.” 

After their long journey to the city, Elganon the Lugubrious (a title he’d earned in their travels due to his mopey disposition) presented to his ragtag party the tower he grew up in here in Baldur’s Gate.

It was a dilapidated old thing, possibly as old as the city itself. But it couldn’t have been, Astarion, an elven vampire and perhaps one of the few people who could make Elganon smile, thought to himself. He knew this city like the back of his hand, and never did he recall such a place. It was an eyesore that he was sure to have seen, even here in the lowlier part of the city. _And_ it was right across from the famous and beautiful Sorcerous Sundries, daring to look as ugly as it did, and apparently even have the nerve to try and compete with the wares sold there! 

The sign indicated that it was an apothecary, so it was of more use to the general public than the wizardly clientele Sorcerous Sundries catered to, but who would trust any medicine that came from _this place_? This tower was crumbling to bits, and it sat so crookedly on the cobblestone that it might fall over at any minute! If someone found something lifesaving here, surely the architecture would kill them on the way out, if they didn’t die of shock at the state of it on the way in first.

Alright, maybe Astarion was being too critical, but it still seemed like a crime for this abomination to be permitted to stand so close to one of the few worthwhile buildings in the Lower City.

_This is…was my home._

Astarion looked in Elganon’s direction and saw that the half-elf was glaring at him with great offense after having read his thoughts. Oops.

With a heavy sigh, Shadowheart, the Shar-worshipping cleric of their group who shared Elganon’s heritage (not that they were related, but many people mistook them as being siblings since they both had dark black hair and pale skin) spoke up. “Well, I suppose you’re going to give us the grand tour, then. Let’s get on with it, lest we start gathering cobwebs ourselves.” She wrinkled her nose as she batted away a sticky web that had gotten into her hair just from standing under the awning at the entrance.

“Alright, but I must remind you all that it’s been a while since I’ve been back home. I may not be entirely welcome here anymore,” Elganon warned.

Their githyanki warrior, Lae’zel, drew out her two-handed sword, preparing herself for the worst-case scenario, should things go horribly wrong. 

This mortified Elganon, and he held out his hand. “Lae’zel. Th-That’s not necessary, but thank you.”

“You _dare_ command me?” she hissed.

Elganon’s lip quivered nervously, and he was on the verge of tears already. In fact, a single droplet dripped down from his eyelash, leaving another long streak of black mascara rolling down his face. “N-No, of course not. I just don’t think it’ll come to that, so you needn’t tire yourself by wielding that heavy thing. Not that it’s heavy for _you_ , I’m sure…”

She rolled her reptilian eyes, and put the weapon back in its holster, if only so that he would stop groveling. She used to like it when her lesser begged, but he was starting to take all the fun out of it with how quick he was to start wringing his hands and asking for mercy or compromise. Pathetic.

“Lae’zel, please. Any more scowling, and you’ll make the poor man faint,” snickered Gale, the human wizard with a magic-eating timebomb ticking inside of him. “Again.”

Meanwhile, the final member of their group, the human warlock Wyll, otherwise known as the Blade of Frontiers, was peering into the storefront window with his only good eye. “Place looks empty to me. Candles are out, and no one’s inside.”

“Oh, it’s open, I promise,” assured Elganon, pulling on the doorhandle. The heavy wooden door creaked open, revealing that the place was absolutely glowing with eerie candlelight. Wyll had to do a double take between the open doorway and the window. 

Odd. The candles behind the window were now lit up, too, and there was a gray dwarf covered from head to presumably toe in runic tattoos putting herbs into drawers behind the counter. Maybe he should ask either Shadowheart or Elganon to have a look at his eye; it might be going bad, and soon he might find himself with _two_ stone eyes. That would be a nightmare.

At the sound of a tiny bell ringing above the door, the dwarf ceased his work to hobble over and see who’d entered his shop. His strange eyes lit up at the sight of the familiar face, and he threw up his arms. “Elg! I wasn’t sure ye’d ever return. Thought ye might, but wasn’t gettin’ me hopes up. Can’t blame ye fer leavin’; I would, too, under yer circumstances. I wasn’t entirely honest with ye about yer past.” 

The middle-aged dwarf stroked his beard thoughtfully, then went back behind the counter to fetch a shovel that he tossed across the room to the male half-elf before grabbing a second one for himself. “Sun’s about tae set, an’ ye know wot tha’ means: Time tae restock the shelves. An’ please, lad, move out o’ tha way—yer blockin’ tha customers. I hate when ye do tha’.”

Elganon gripped at the shovel’s handle timidly, turning his knuckles white. He supposed he shouldn’t have been so surprised that the duergar would carry on as if nothing ever transpired between them when he’d shown up back at his doorstep. Like most gray dwarves, the shopkeeper was paranoid, but a deep trust had developed between him and Elganon. After all, he was the half-elf’s surrogate father, in a sense. 

“Orebos, these are my _friends_ ,” he informed the dwarf, who took pause at this.

“Friends?” the duergar repeated skeptically. “Since when do ye have those? Ones tha' don’t shamble or walk on four legs, at any rate.”

A wicked grin appeared on Astarion’s face; he was loving every moment of the scene that was playing out before his scarlet eyes. He had no idea what was going on here, but he was living for it. “Ever since he got an Illithid tadpole stuck in his brain, I suppose,” he said helpfully, but not in Elganon’s opinion.

“He wot?” After a moment of silence that nobody in the party wanted to break (Astarion thought about it, but he was enjoying the awkward tension too much) the dwarf dismissed the stranger’s comment as a joke. “Hah! Sure. Anyways, we ought tae get goin’, if yer “friends” aren’t keen on buyin’ anythin’. Deal’s off with Candulhallow. Got tae go back tae gettin’ all our wares ourselves again. Better tae get started early; sunrise comes quick this time o’ year. They can come with; can always use an extra pair o’ diggin’ hands.”

Gale’s brow knitted. “Digging hands? Elganon, are you going to explain _any_ of this to us?”

The half-elven warlock’s hands trembled, rattling the flimsy shovel’s head on the handle it was precariously affixed to. “Everyone, meet Orebos. He lived in isolation here in Baldur’s Gate for many years, but he took me in and raised me as his own when I was left at his doorstep as a babe.” The tattooed dwarf waved at the lot listlessly.

“So, you were an orphan,” muttered Astarion, folding his arms. “How quaint. And here I thought I knew everything there was to know about you.” He looked a little peeved by Elganon’s secrecy, since he revealed so much of his own uncomfortable past to the man.

Orebos pointed at Astarion while speaking to his adoptive son. “Yer shackin’ up with tha bitchy one, ain’t ye?”

Elganon walked over to the dwarf, bending down so that he could whisper to him. “For reference, they’re _all_ like that, so that doesn’t really narrow things down.” After lingering a while longer on the question, he added, “But yes, I am.”

“Feck,” uttered the dwarf. “Well, regardless, tha shelves won’t restock themselves. We’ll finish tha introductions along tha way, but no more bitchin’. Ain’t got time fer any o’ tha’.”

As the duergar approached the group, who annoyed him by obstructing the door even if he decided he was going to close early today, Astarion figured that for Elganon’s sake, he should probably try again to make a better first impression by bowing. As soon as he straightened his body and took a sharp inhale of air, the dwarf bopped him in the gut with the wooden end of the shovel and knocked the air right back out of the pompous windbag.

“Quiet, ye,” Orebos snorted, exiting the tower with Elganon shuffling close behind. His eyes met Astarion’s face briefly, but he kept on going, fearing the wrath of his mentor.

“My name is As—" the vampiric elf wheezed, but he couldn’t finish; his proper greeting didn’t come out as elegantly as he planned before he was struck unceremoniously. The rest of the party stared at their doubled-over companion in shock, and some of them began to chortle at the astonished expression on his face as he clutched his abdomen.

“Alright, Ass, come along; we don’t got all night,” the dwarf called out. “Tha rest of ye lot had better not hold us up, either.”

Wyll smirked at Astarion, patting him on the shoulder as he went with Orebos and Elganon. “The old curmudgeon’s not so bad, for a gray dwarf.”

“We’ll see,” said Shadowheart cynically, flipping her long braid in Astarion’s stunned face; she hadn’t forgot how rude the elf had been to her thus far in their travels, and likely wasn’t going to let her grudge end anytime soon.

Lae’zel exhaled exasperatedly through her tiny nostrils, but against her better judgment, went with the rest of the group.

Gale was the only one to stay behind and offer Astarion a friendly hand. “Need help there?” His smile disappeared when the vampire slapped his hand away.

“I’m _fine_ , thank you,” Astarion growled, finally coming to his senses.

The wizard shrugged and was on his way as well. “Have it your way, then.”

“No, wait!” Still holding onto his bruised stomach, Astarion wobbled after Gale, spitting up someone else’s blood in his wake; the dwarf hit him harder than he realized. “I’m coming!” he sputtered, getting flecks of gore all over his frilly white collar and the frayed embroidery of his puffy shirt. Shit. Hopefully, no one would notice with nighttime falling as fast as it was.

* * *

Among one of the many open graves, the group of adventurers spotted movement. Orebos narrowed his beady eyes, focusing on what it might be.

“Elganon,” he grunted, seeming none too amused. “Tha’s yer uncle shaggin’ another corpse, ain’t it?” He would recognize that silver ponytail and giddy witch-like cackle anywhere, and so would his adoptive son.

“I believe it is, yes,” mumbled Elganon in embarrassment, knowing without even having to check that his companions were alarmed, each in their own way, by the declaration.

Orebos sighed, planting the head of his shovel into the dirt, and leaning against it. “Go tell ‘im tae knock it tha feck out; we got company, fer feck’s sake. Hells.”

“The people of your world are like animals,” snapped Lae’zel in disgust. “Wretched. Filthy.”

“Ye get used tae it, lass,” said the dwarf, listening disappointedly to the sound of the human in the grave have his way with a dead body for the umpteenth time. He’d lost count of how many times this happened, frankly. 

If Orebos hadn’t known the man for so long, nor found him so helpful in assisting with his business, he’d have bashed his brains in with the shovel he carried with him. The world would be better off for it. How rude he was for mucking up the corpses before the dwarf could collect his reagents first. Bastard had no decency, no proper respect for men of business.

As much as Elganon didn’t want to, he crept up behind the preoccupied human in the grave, laid his shovel down on the ground, and tapped the man on the shoulder. “Uncle Tabby, I see that you’re very busy at the moment, but do you think you could do this another time? We could use your help with scouring the place for new stock, and then you can, ah, return to your…hobby.”

The human spun around and pulled up his trousers. “Elgy, ya came home! Good ta see ya again, peaches!” 

The old man scrambled out of the grave, stepping on the desecrated corpse to do so, and pulled the half-elf into a tight hug. Elganon really wish he didn’t, considering where his hands had just been, not to mention all the places they might have been prior to their arrival, but he patted the human on the back reluctantly.

“Sorry to disturb you, but you know how Orebos gets when he’s in a hurry,” uttered Elganon sheepishly.

“Aw, don’t worry about it none,” replied the old man, waving a hand dismissively, and draping an arm across the half-elf’s shoulders as he was directed towards the rest of the party. “I weren’t really gettin’ nowhere, anyways. When ya get to be my age, it gets harder ta, well, keep it hard, y’know? Even the stiffs are stiffer’n you are! Eheheheheh!”

Astarion’s jaw was hanging open when Elganon returned with the human in tow. “ _You’re related to this madman_?”

The human, wrongly believing he was the one being addressed, replied, “Dunno if Elg an’ I are related, but we could be. He is half human, after all. But naw, prolly not. He just calls me ‘is uncle on account of me hangin’ ‘round ol’ Ore. The name’s Tabalecus, but folks ‘round ‘ere just call me Tabby fer short.” He offered the vampire a handshake, but it was not-so-politely declined with an appalled grimace. 

The human tucked his hand away inside of his pocket instead, and the rest of the party took a few steps back, except for Gale, who said humorously, “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I like him; he seems friendly, for someone who buggers dead bodies.” Of course, he was being sarcastic, but even Astarion wasn’t in the mood for his jokes at the moment. 

As a team, they really needed to stop walking in on strangers fucking, and collectively they were starting to suspect this was all the result of Elganon being at the helm of their journey.

“Can’t you just… find a live one?” Wyll thought to ask the old man, hands tucked underneath his own armpits uncomfortably. He’d seen a lot in his travels as a monster hunter, but that was plain weird.

Tabalecus guffawed. “She was askin’ fer it, son.”

Wyll’s frown deepened. “Oh, that’s just _wrong_.”

“No, really!”

A decaying hand sprang up from the grave, and the dead body the old man had been spending “quality time” with clawed out of the six-foot deep hole.

“Where’re ya goin’, hon?” Uncle Tabby asked the corpse forlornly.

“Out for a snack,” rasped the reanimated human woman, her bones clicking as she adjusted them for the first time in weeks. “Don’t wait up on me, handsome.”

The old man gave a sad wave goodbye as the undead woman blew him a kiss from her rotted lips and shambled off into the shadows, and the entire traveling party turned to stare at Elganon in expectance of an explanation.

Elganon separated himself from Tabalecus, as if a few feet of physical distance alone would prove a disownment of the strange man’s inclinations. With a nervous titter, the half-elf said, “Uncle Tabby and Orebos are necromancers, you see, and yes they taught me everything I know in that field.” He paused, then blushed. “Except for _that_ —I do not have… relations with the dead, undead or otherwise! Only polite and very cordial conversations, I promise you!”

Orebos made an exaggerated coughing sound, striding up to his adoptive son to mutter from behind the back of his hand, “Elg, vampires are considered tae be undead. Jus’ sayin’…” His eyes shifted in Astarion’s direction and the vampire in question, already well aware of this fact, seemed rather affronted by his partner’s renouncement.

“Ah, well, of course there are always _exceptions_ ,” Elganon stammered without thinking his correction through first. That clearly sparked _more_ concern among his party. Now they thought he was outright lying to them.

“Can’t spell necromancy without romance,” commented Tabalecus sagely. “Er, gotta move the “e” ta the end of “romanc”, but yeah.” Astarion, for one, was surprised the man knew how to spell, since he barely even knew how to speak.

“Enough yammerin’,” commanded Orebos. “Dig.” He gestured for Elganon to go fetch his shovel, which he did, dragging his feet as he did so. He turned to the rest of the group and repeated himself, in case they didn’t hear him the first time or thought his demand was exclusive to Elganon. “Dig.”

“I’d sooner separate your head from your shoulders, dwarf,” growled Lae’zel, her yellow hand twitching and eager to reach for her sword again.

“I like this one, Elg,” Orebos said about the githyanki, but the warlock was already preoccupied with exhuming corpses that he’d probably have to keep his “uncle” away from. He grinned underneath his beard at the tall, otherworldly woman, revealing several rotted teeth and teeth capped with gleaming minerals—very little in his mouth was in a healthy state at his age. “Say, lass, yer not lookin’ tae establish yerself here in tha city, are ye? Could always use a business partner with a backbone.”

“I thought we were business partners!” cried Tabalecus.

The dwarf huffed. “Yer jus’ tha hired help, ye old freeloader.”

The githyanki tried not to crack even a small smile of pride at the dwarf’s offer. It was a meager proposal made by an insignificant creature in her eyes, therefore she would not appease him with even a smirk, but she appreciated that he was at least wise enough to see that _she_ was the who kept things in order among their adventuring group. Elganon was only permitted to walk at the front of their lot because he knew more about wayfinding and nature in this world that was so unfamiliar to her, but once she figured things out for herself, to the back he would go.

“I have no interest in your business or your city,” Lae’zel answered bluntly. “We are only here temporarily because we have matters of grave—"

“Heh, she said grave. I get it,” uttered Tabalecus, and she shot him a cold stare and a sharp hiss of “silence, worm” that made him squirm much like the mentioned creature and fall silent. Orebos grunted at him, indicating that he should get to work. Luckily, the human already brought his own shovel.

“—importance.”

“Indeed,” interjected Shadowheart. “Which is why we can’t stay here playing in the dirt. Time is of the essence. Elganon only took us to you because we all needed a place to stay while we are in the city, and we’ve little gold to part with. He said nothing of helping you with menial errands.” She cast her gaze back to the cemetery’s landscape curiously. “You run an apothecary, don’t you? So then, why are we digging up dead bodies?”

“Don’t ye know tha’ corpses not only make fer tha best fertilizer, but also, some o’ tha best herbs and fungi grow ‘round an’ even inside o’ ‘em? An’ then ye got other useful things, like perfectly workable organs an’ bones—tha’ comes in handy in a lot o’ ways, if ye know wot yer doin’.”

Shadowheart watched Elganon struggle to hoist a halfling’s body out of one of the graves and only successfully manage to get the job done when Tabalecus came over to assist him. “And does your son know what he’s doing?” She had to be certain that, if Elganon was going to continue assisting her with healing, since issuing punishment was more her forte, his knowledge in medicine could be trusted. She was already disappointed that he was of no help when it came to the tadpole situation.

“Oh, aye, that he does,” said the gray dwarf with a nod. “Replaced a tiefling’s kidney once. Sobbed ‘is eyes out over all tha blood, but got tha job done well enough. Fellow’s still alive tae this day, last I saw ‘im. Came into me store a tenday ago fer an anti-itch cream, he did.”

“Might you have any cures in your shop that would remove or kill an Illithid tadpole? Hypothetically speaking,” said the cleric.

Orebos’ nose twitched impatiently. “Again with tha tadpole thing? Ye an’ the rest o’ yer crew love yer shite jokes. It wuzn’t funny tha first time. But, no, nothin’ tha’ serious. I jus’ got elixirs tha’ put folk ta sleep, an’ salves fer genital warts an’ wotnot. Tentacled beasties runnin’ about ain’t an’ every-day-feckin’-occurrence in Baldur’s Gate! Mostly…”

Come to think of it, he did hear about a massive tentacled ship flying over the city wreaking havoc before mysteriously disappearing into thin air while dragons, of all things, gave chase, but people made up crazy rumors all the time! Though, that would explain how some parts of the city got inexplicably flattened.

The duergar was about to go join Elganon and Tabalecus in the digging, until the former dashed over to him in a sudden hurry.

“Candulhallow’s goons’re here,” the necrophile told him, knitting his brow worriedly.

Orebos sighed. “Ah, feck. Here we go again. Hope ye lot are good in a fight.” He hefted the shovel over his shoulder, holding it between his broad shoulder and thick neck as he clapped his hands together, causing his bright blue runic tattoos to light up with magic, then casted a spell that made some of the unearthed bodies rise up.

Already seeing the hooded figures rolling into the cemetery through the fog with their covered wagons, the dwarf yelled, “These corpses are like trash, ye bloody gits! When ye throw ‘em out, they become fair game!”

“Our clients are understandably unhappy when they see their beloved relatives – or what they believe are such – have been defiled in what should be secure resting places, dwarf.” 

The towering man who spoke lowered the handles of the cart he carried delicately, so as to not topple the covered bodies piled in the back of it and took slow strides towards the gathering of intruders. The rest of his shadowy companions followed. 

“You were given the opportunity to work with Candulhallow, if you could be discreet about your work, which you could not. If you must persist in making a mockery of our business, then your lifeless bodies shall be stacked on the back of my wagon with the others.”

A simple gesture signaled for the other cloaked Candulhallow employees to run at the party from different directions, leaping over tombstones and dodging past the sluggish swipes of Orebos’ undead minions. A burly woman, whose hood had fallen off and revealed her scarred face and half-orc heritage, got to Shadowheart and attempted to run her through with a scimitar, but the cleric managed to block it with a shield bash. 

Shadowheart scowled at Elganon when he stalled and merely watched in horror as she was being attacked, holding his shovel close to his chest while making himself disappear behind three of the risen dead for protection. As soon as he thought he was safe where he was at, the undead charged off into battle without him, rendering him vulnerable again.

“Come _here_ , you coward, and _fight_! I know that demon of yours makes you good for _something_!” Shadowheart shouted at him.

“But I—" Elganon stopped backing away when he felt his back bump into somebody else’s. Astarion had come to his side when the undead left, standing back-to-back with him with a dagger in hand, and leaned back further to whisper in the half-elf’s ear.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said in a relaxingly soothing tone. “I’m here.”

Those words were so familiar. Elganon recalled his demon saying them once, all the way back when he was a child. Back then, he thought the unseen being was his imaginary friend or some divine guardian. He was right on both counts, in a sense.

His mind returning to reality of the situation as it unfolded, Elganon realized he wasn’t even remotely alone. He was surrounded by allies, both within and without. His demon, his lover, his family, and his friends. Why didn’t he see that before?

“No more cowering in the dark while casting the occasional spell,” Elganon murmured with a higher sense of self-esteem he never knew before.

“Actually,” Astarion replied with a slight chortle. “You probably should keep doing that, honestly. You’re quite talented at it. Although, doing it with a bit more confidence and a little less whimpering might help your aim.” He rubbed the scorch mark on the elbow of his shirt sleeve, where Elganon had very nearly taken off Astarion’s entire arm by accident with a miscast Eldritch Blast.

“Oh. Alright, then,” Elganon said with a small, dejected sigh. He threw away his shovel, smacking in the head one of the cloaked figures that neither he, nor Astarion, saw coming by accident, and he was so startled by the pained shout of his victim that came right before they fell out cold that he mindlessly blurted out, “Sorry!”

“Darling,” murmured Astarion. “They’re the bad guys. They’re trying to murder us.”

“Right, of course.” Elganon moved closer to their fallen would-be attacker, then knelt beside the unconscious humanoid and started jerking their head at awkward angles.

“What do you think you’re doing!?” the vampiric elf barked, unsure of what he was witnessing here.

“Ngh… I’m trying to break this one’s neck, can’t you tell?”

“That’s nice, dearest, but I doubt that one’s a threat to us anymore as they are. Once we’re safe, we can come back to them later, and you can twist on their head all you want until it pops right off.” Astarion grabbed Elganon by the wrist, pulling him across the graveyard as he broke into a sprint. They ducked behind a tall tombstone to hide from crossbow bolts that were shot at them. “Also, I don’t know who’s turning you into such a psychopath: Your demon, your family, or me.”

“All of the above?” Elganon suggested with a shrug, earning him a pout from the elf. He yelped as one of the bolts flew right through a brittle spot in the old tombstone, barely missing his head. The rest of the stone crumbled, and now they needed another hiding place.

“Ahem!” Shadowheart coughed loudly to draw the two men’s attention. She’d blinded her attacker temporarily with divine magic, but the woman that towered over her was still trying to slash at her with her sword. Shadowheart had been lucky so far with dodging and blocking the swipes, but she didn’t imagine that would last forever.

Elganon slapped his own forehead. How could he have forgotten that his own teammate needed his help? Given how Astarion was never all too keen on sticking his neck out for the rest of their party, the warlock assumed it was up to him alone to do something about the matter. 

One glance over the crumbled tombstone revealed that everyone else was locked in combat already, as more of Candulhallow’s people sprang out from the fog. Wyll and Gale were standing on top of the entryway to a crypt, hurling magic at undead that their enemies had brought back to life. It became hard to distinguish which were Orebos’ undead allies, other than going by which ones were attacking whom. Orebos and Tabalecus were fending off two Candulhallow lackeys with their shovels and necromantic sorcery. Meanwhile, Lae’zel was determined to engage in the fray solo, even going so far as to cutting down some of Orebos and Tabalecus’ risen dead after she was done dealing with living enemies, to be on the safe side that the animate corpses wouldn’t attack her next.

Elganon couldn’t tell if they were winning or losing thus far because the hectic battle was too overwhelming to his senses. His heart sank at the notion that this could be the end for them. He didn’t want to die, but a part of him was accepting the possibility, perhaps too effortlessly. Silent tears rolled down his face. It didn’t even occur to him that Astarion had leaped over their destroyed cover to go take out the man shooting at them with a crossbow. The rest of the world seemed to fade away, becoming irrelevant.

The warlock extended his hand, focusing intently on Shadowheart’s attacker, transferring the sensation of hopelessness into the muscular half-orcish woman, and soon the rage-fueled swipes of her scimitar paused, the movement in her muscles slackening. Terror and helplessness took over her once-emboldened visage, and slowly she brought her blade up to her face, turning the weapon in her hand so that she could examine herself in the reflection, getting lost in her thoughts.

Shadowheart stepped back and watched in awe and grim curiosity as the half-orc placed the edge against her own neck and slit her own throat right before her eyes. The cleric stood still as she was splattered in her assailant’s gore. There was something hauntingly beautiful about what had happened, as in one brief moment, total relief washed over the woman’s face as the life drained from her body until she slumped to the ground, twitching as she bled out in a matter of seconds.

“Quite the Charm spell,” Shadowheart said, stepping over the fresh body to meet with Elganon and allowing herself to permit him some praise with an admiring smirk. If he could do this sort of thing all the time, she might have more respect for him.

“Something like that,” he mumbled unsurely. He didn’t really understand the powers his patron granted him. He tried prodding the demon that whispered in his mind for information, but he was always met with: _Your place is to carry out my will, not to question it or my methods. The less you know, the better. Now go, and do not trouble yourself with such thoughts any further._

The demon could be right. Often, he was afraid of what he was capable of, and how his sense of guilt lessened as he grew more accustomed to wielding such spells. The world was a bleak place and hardly fair. He was beginning to tell himself that suffering was the natural order of things, and that allowing one’s self to become too absorbed in changing that lead to hubris, pride, and eventually one’s own downfall.

He didn’t make the half-orc take her own life. There was already inside of her a deep pain, lying dormant like a seed that would sprout eventually. All he did was awaken it. Sometimes it was better to just… let it all out. For many people, the pain of facing one’s own true emotions cauterized the wounds on their soul, allowing them to heal. Not so much for her, though. For some, there was too much to feel all at once.

_It wasn’t my place to make her come to terms with her sorrows before she was ready_ , one voice in his head said, mirroring the sound of his actual voice.

_Does anyone really get to choose when they get to face adversity? I didn’t,_ said another that was almost exactly the same, but with a hint of bitterness.

_It’s not my fault_.

_I never wanted to hurt anyone._

_I never wanted any of this._

_I wish I’d never found that chest._

_Or left home._

_Or got abducted by those mind flayers._

_What if I’m turning into my father?_

_My real father._

_What if it’s the tadpole?_

_What if it’s both?_

_When my mind is no longer my own, will I even realize it?_

_I’m not a bad person._

_I’m not a monster._

_I’m just afraid._

_But my patron will protect me._

_He always does._

_It would be an insult to him, to not use these gifts he’s given me._

_He loves me._

_I love him, too._

Elganon rested his throbbing head in his palm, a dizzy spell coming on. These happened even before the incident involving the mind flayers, but Shadowheart couldn’t have known that.

“Are you feeling alright?” she asked, worried that he might sprout a tentacle from his face at any moment.

“I’m just exhausted from the spell,” he lied. “We should group up with the others before one of us gets hurt.”

“Hmph. You needn’t worry about me. It’s _you_ who should be worried about your own safety,” she retorted, poking his chest with a finger.

“I am,” he mumbled, sounding queasy. “Trust me; I am.”

She wasn’t sure what he meant by that exactly, but she wouldn’t bother to dwell on it for long. Raising her mace and shield, she charged into the fog, ready for anything. Elganon ran after her, slouching forward to make himself appear as small as possible.

Thinking he was an enemy, Shadowheart nearly clubbed Astarion over the head, but her mace stopped a few inches short of his skull, much to his fortune. Although, she was so repulsed to see him sucking on the neck of a halfling that she wished she _did_ strike some sense into the deplorably ravenous fiend. Too late now, though. Elganon would certainly take issue if she clearly did it on purpose.

Astarion froze at her stare and allowed the husk of a body he was trying to drain every last ounce of blood from to drop. Unfortunately, halflings were so small that they were barely an appetizer.

“He was shooting at us,” Astarion said, trying to create an excuse for his unsightly behavior. “I had to make an example of him.”

“To whom?” asked the cleric impatiently. The answer became obvious when both she and Elganon noticed that there was another fresh body, totally exsanguinated all the same, laying nearby, which Astarion pointed at.

“To that one.”

Elganon focused on the corpse, making an attempt to commune with the recently departed.

_Like a beast… straight from the Nine Hells… Didn’t see ‘im… comin’…_

The voice faded with a wet gargle, and the spirit was long gone. Elganon wished he had more time to question the traumatized soul. It would have been handy to try and pry for more information about the situation with Candulhallow’s Funeral Arrangements and Orebos’ business. When he left home, he thought that a truce had finally been made over the matter of his adoptive family’s graverobbing. It seems that some things never changed.

He was about to tell Astarion that they should get moving, or risk someone else pulling a ranged weapon on them, but something in the elf’s teeth caught his attention. There was a hanging bit of flesh from where the vampire had torn into one of these beings’ necks. Astarion must have been so drunk with enthusiasm from his feeding frenzy that he didn’t even notice it himself.

“You have a little something right here,” Elganon mumbled, moving closer to pick the gore from his lover’s fangs. After plucking it out, he flicked the hunk of flesh as far as he could, then wiped his bloodied fingers onto his tunic.

“Much appreciated, dear.” Astarion licked the blood from his lips, then planted a kiss on his partner’s forehead.

Shadowheart grimaced, more so at their romantic exchange than anything else, and grumbled, “Let’s just get moving before I start retching at the sight of you making doe eyes at each other.”

Astarion smirked. “ _Someone’s_ jealous.”

“Hardly,” she said curtly, turning on her heel so that she wouldn’t give the vampire the satisfaction of seeing that she was a tad bit conflicted.

Shadowheart led their way through the spreading fog, which she now noticed was an unnatural phenomenon created by an enemy spellcaster. Using divine magic to navigate the path with her mastery of the obscured, she traced the source all the way back to a wizard, who was now being choked out by a psychic hand conjured by their githyanki companion. Though Shadowheart was never fond of the woman, she had to admit that Lae’zel was talented at holding her own in a fight full of combatants. It was quite something to watch her cleave a small horde of undead with her sword without losing her concentration to maintain the summoned hand that was making short work of the spellcaster.

Astarion put away his dagger to give an applause that went unappreciated by the githyanki warrior. It was understandable that she doubted his sincerity much of the time. He was too snarky and playful for her liking.

“You yet live. Well done,” Lae’zel said, sounding as if she had low expectations. Going to the unconscious spellcaster, she pierced them right in the throat with her sword, ending their life.

“You see, darling, _that’s_ how you do it,” Astarion teased Elganon, who reacted with a subtle pout.

“To Wyll and Gale, then,” Elganon muttered sulkily.

“You don’t want to check in on the old bags first?” asked Astarion, referring to Orebos and Tabalecus.

“They used to be seasoned adventurers,” replied the half-elven warlock. “And as you can see from what we’re dealing with here, retirement from those days hasn’t dulled their skill any.”

“So, the feud with this Candulhallow has been going on for a while now, I take it,” said Shadowheart.

“It’s the Lower City,” Elganon answered. “Anyone who runs a business around this part of Baldur’s Gate is bound to find themselves in deadly competition sooner or later.”

“Truer words have never been spoken,” said Astarion, nodding and taking out his blade again.

“And this is where you’ve decided that we’ll be staying in our time here.” Shadowheart sighed. “Wonderful.”

“If you weaklings are done mewling…” Lae’zel didn’t have the patience to finish that thought, tightening her lips almost as much as her fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword.

Shadowheart huffed, then continued to be the group’s guide in the fog that was now slowly clearing with the wizard taken care of.

The three snuck up on the undead that were trying to claw their way up to Wyll and Gale atop the crypt’s stone entry, taking them out with blade, magic, and blunt force. Necromancers were such a pain, and skirmishes between multiple of them were a nightmare. Some of the undead had to be pummeled multiple times because they kept getting back up.

“We were wondering if you’d ever show,” said Gale as he peered down from the roof. “Ran out of prepared spells. We’re exhausted up here.”

“I’m not,” lied Wyll. “I just needed to catch my breath for a moment—that’s all.”

“Sure,” snickered the human wizard crouched beside him on the rooftop. Gale uncapped a waterskin, offering Wyll a drink.

“Thanks, mate,” Wyll mumbled, having a long sip. He needed it. After returning the waterskin to Gale, Wyll glanced back over the edge of the building at Elganon. “You really have a way of bringing us to trouble, don’t you?”

Elganon fidgeted, kicking at the dirt timidly. “Not on purpose…”

Wyll chuckled. “I should hope not.” He leaped off the somewhat short structure, and Gale was reluctant to join him. He wasn’t as good of a jumper as the human warlock without the help of magic.

Astarion noticed Gale’s nervous expression and stepped forward with his arms held out, having sheathed his weapon again. “Would you like me to catch you?”

Gale weighed his current options and wasn’t too keen about any of them. “I’m not sure I trust you to catch me, honestly. It might be safer to jump directly into a bear trap.”

The vampire smirked playfully. “Oh, come now. I won’t bite. Hard.” Elganon appeared flustered behind him.

Lae’zel narrowed her eyes at Gale and pointed at the ground. “If you don’t get down here right this instant, I’ll rip your tongue out and–” She didn’t have to finish before Gale was already taking his chances scrambling down the old bricks of the building. He fell about half of the way down, but he imagined it hurt less than whatever the githyanki had in store for him if he didn’t obey her command.

The fog had finally dissipated completely, revealing a sea of corpses—both old and new—among the surface of the graveyard. The group expected that the two aging necromancers accompanying them might be in trouble, but Tabalecus and Orebos were taking turns at kicking the downed leader of the group, who was little more than a sickly, bloody heap at this point with necromantic energies radiating off his deceased body, no doubt from the necrotic spellwork that rapidly decayed his flesh.

“Told you,” said Elganon. The others were fairly impressed.

The elders eventually ran out of breath, and they doubled over panting for air. Orebos spat on the corpse of the man they’d been kicking. “Make me work hard fer me, will ye? Fecker.” He turned to the gathered party and said, “Some help ye lot were!” If only he knew how much they really turned the tide of the battle. “Anyways, help me an’ Tabby load up tha rest o’ these carts. May as well take tha fresh bodies these fools brought with ‘em. After we’ve done all tha’ an’ made it back home, I s’ppose I’ll find ye lot a place ta sleep. Got a few spare rooms. A bit dusty, though.”

“So, you _will_ let us stay with you?” said Astarion with a small hint of surprise. Truthfully, the dwarf came across as such a bastard that he half expected they’d be turned away, except for maybe Elganon at best. Not that it would have kept Astarion from sneaking into his lover’s bedroom window now that he could trespass on homes freely thanks to the tadpole’s effects.

“I don’t care fer visitors, but I’ve got lots o’ catchin’ up ta do with me business,” said the duergar. “Been difficult getting things handled without Elg around. If yer just gonna freeload, ye can feck off now, but if ye actually want ta be useful, I’ll tolerate ye lot fer a little while. But don’t touch anythin’ in me shop, unless yer helpin’ me stock shelves, got it?”

Oh goody. Astarion missed being an errand boy ever so much. Not really, but they didn’t have a choice here. “Very well, I suppose that’s fair enough…”

It wasn’t exactly the sort of work befitting a group of adventurers who frankly had more important things to do, but the party assisted the necromancers with hauling the “supplies” back to the tower. Except for Lae’zel, who had taken it upon herself to act as their taskmaster, barking orders left and right. It was no wonder why she was quickly becoming the gray dwarf’s favorite of Elganon’s newfound “friends”.

* * *

* * *

Elganon’s bedroom wasn’t particularly big, but it seemed even smaller due to how cluttered it was with bits and baubles collected over the years. It didn’t take long for Astarion to catch on that although Elganon and his adoptive father were slightly better off than the average person in the Lower City because of their shop, they still lived in abject poverty like most people here, only barely making ends meet. 

When he thought about it, it made sense. The poor always put off buying medicine whenever they could help it because they tended to have to choose between eating and rolling the dice with their ailments or increasing their odds of surviving their sicknesses and starving. 

Most people who came to shops like these in the impoverished parts of a city were usually very desperate folk with low income that became unable to tolerate their suffering anymore, and the only time a person with the wealth to afford regular care would dare enter an establishment such as this one was when they couldn’t bear to be seen going to a temple or a more reputable apothecary for the sake of preserving their honor, should the nature of an embarrassing ailment become public knowledge.

Astarion expected Elganon to be ashamed to show off his room because the moment it was revealed to him, Astarion honestly thought it looked like a pitiful junkheap, but Elganon was very proud of the things he’d collected over the years. He mentioned that he’d been collecting all these things since his childhood. 

Pressed flower petals, pinned insects, various patches of cloth that he said he always meant to turn into a quilt one day (how gaudy that quilt would be if it ever came to fruition), inert magical items that were discarded by sorcerers after their use had been exhausted, bird feathers (mostly from common pest birds that could be found all about Baldur’s Gate), rocks and minerals (nothing of real value), and countless other things that just took up space, in Astarion’s opinion.

Of course, Elganon had to prattle at him incessantly about the sentimental value to each and every little item he was excited about showing off to his elven love interest. It was like being told about somebody else’s dream. You really had to see it yourself to really “get it”, otherwise it was quite dull to have to hear about.

Astarion tried to put up with Elganon’s rambling for as long as he could tolerate, but his patience was wearing thin. By the time Elganon was about to drag out his copper coin collection—making mention that, sadly, he had to use most of it to pitch in for food when times were especially tough a few years back—Astarion couldn’t take it anymore; he had to change the subject before he died of boredom, since that was no way for a vampire to exit the mortal coil.

Astarion smirked devilishly as he slowly opened up his shirt and unfastened his belt while the warlock was distracted with rummaging through his untidy collection of stuff in search of the box of coins. Elganon turned around at the sound of the metal buckle on Astarion’s belt jingling while it was being undone, and his interest in his prized collection diminished. He was much more fascinated with what Astarion was up to. Fascinated and nervous.

“I-It does get stuffy up here at the top of the tower quite often,” Elganon muttered, backing away as the vampire strutted over to him with a coquettish smile. He could only take a few steps backward before he bumped into his scratched-up wooden wardrobe. Reaching behind himself, the warlock pulled on the metal handle to open one of the doors, revealing the few sets of other clothes that he owned. “You’re mo-more than welcome to borrow my summer clothes, if it’s too hot in here.”

Astarion slammed the wardrobe door shut, and pinned Elganon in place with his arms, leaning so close that their noses touched. “Mmm… I’m fine like this, thank you. Besides, your clothing is a bit… small for me.” And he wouldn’t be caught dead in those rags, but he mercifully left that part out. “But look at you! Your face is practically pink! Clearly, you’re much hotter than I am. Allow me to help you with that.”

Elganon bit down on his own bottom lip, turning his head away in embarrassment and clinging tightly to the surface behind him. “I-I’m fine, really! There’s no need to worry about m–” Oh gods. Astarion was removing his clothes for him.

He was faster at it than the half-elf was, too. It took a while for Elganon to get his adventuring clothes on (he wasn’t yet used to wearing that type of apparel, but he was getting the hang of it), but Astarion was certainly an expert in taking it off. In a matter of moments, he was naked from the waist up, and already his trousers were being yanked down to his ankles. 

Astarion pushed him against the wardrobe to lift him up one leg at a time to pull his boots off so that his pants and undergarments could join them on the floor where they were haphazardly tossed to the side, and Elganon was even warmer with shame as he was handled this way. It made his cock twitch with excitement against his will. Why did it have to be embarrassment that turned him on the most?

Afterwards, Elganon was carried over to the small table in the bedroom that was positioned near the only window in the room. The unlit candlestick was slapped off the table by the vampire, so that he could plop his lover down there. Elganon squirmed atop the thin and faded silk tablecloth decorated with a moon and star pattern, uncertain of why he wasn’t placed on his bed instead. His bed was barely big enough for the both of them, but it was still more comfortable and sizable than this tiny little table.

Astarion laid his head against Elganon’s chest, listening to his rapid heartbeat with contentment as he gazed out the open window. “The Lower City may not be much to look at as a whole, but I must say, you have a lovely view from here,” he murmured with a relaxed sigh. He hummed and rubbed his cheek against his lover’s flesh as Elganon stroked his hair affectionately.

“Ye-Yes, every day I’d always like to stare out the window once or twice. It was very peaceful. When th-there’s not any fighting going on in the streets, of course.” Elganon made a slight anxious whimper as he lay sprawled out on the table completely naked in full view of the window. “Do…you think we could do this someplace else? I mean, what if someone sees us?”

His partner chuckled. “Ah, but this tower has enchanted windows, doesn’t it? The people outside can’t always see exactly what’s going on inside, can they?” He remembered when Wyll brought attention to this detail when they first arrived.

“Perceptive,” the half-elf mumbled with a nod. “Y-Yes, that _is_ the case. This whole place is enchanted, mostly, although… Well, as you can tell, the magic is starting to fade in some areas. We’ve had to let much of the tower fall to the wayside, but I hope that when our adventure is over, I can bring enough money back to Orebos to help fix all of it. It could be as good as new again. Perhaps its beauty could one day rival that of Sorcerous Sundries.” Elganon smiled at the mental image.

“Hah. Well, it’s good to have dreams, at any rate,” Astarion replied, lifting his head. “But don’t get your hopes up, dear.” He tried to cheer his lover up, after being so blunt that it made his hopeful smile fade, by tickling under his smooth chin, but it only made the warlock pout petulantly.

Astarion pursed his lips and crawled onto the table just enough to perch his knee beside Elganon’s hip, rest his palms on either side of the half-elf’s head, and lean downward to bring their faces close together again. “Oh, come now, darling, don’t be upset,” he cooed in a playful mocking tone. “All I’m saying is that we should take things one day at a time. We can start making plans for the future once we’re sure there _will_ be a future.”

“W-We?” Elganon gasped, reading a lot into that particular word.

Astarion realized the implication a little too late. The ideal time to have noticed it would have been _before_ he phrased it that way. “Listen, darling, just so that we’re clear: I’m not proposing _marriage_ or anything of that magnitude here. Reason would dictate that, more than likely, we will probably continue to spend time in each other’s presence, would it not?”

With a confident toothy smirk, the vampire added, “What? Did you think I was going to scurry away the moment the “day is saved” and all that rot? I’m in no rush. It’s not like I have an appointment to be somewhere in particular, after all.”

Elganon propped himself upright with his elbows, looking a bit like a puppy who’d just found a new best friend. Astarion was sure that if he had a tail, it’d be wagging, and that kind of loyalty inspired dread in him. With loyalty came expectations. High ones, usually. That never boded well for Astarion.

“Ah, well, if that’s the case, after our quest has concluded, I’d be more than happy to talk with Orebos about having a larger bed put in here,” Elganon suggested, thinking he was in any way containing his excitement, but he was speaking very enthusiastically. “Or, if you’d prefer to have more space on occasion, just a second one that’s about the same size as mine. We could push the beds together when we wanted to, erm… Spend quality time together.” His cheeks went flush, and he was gnawing on his lip again.

Astarion cringed at the thought of this being his permanent home. He could see this potential future now play out in his mind: Spending every night in a stuffy, cramped bedroom with a bed too large to leave any walking space left just to handle two occupants; having to smell gruel being cooked in the kitchen for breakfast every morning; the grumpy aging duergar treating him like the hired help, the same way he treated Elganon. 

What a horrible existence. How did Elganon manage to tolerate living this way for so long, and why in the world would he ever even think of coming back to it when he was free of it when he first tried to leave Baldur’s Gate and start a new life? Astarion most certainly wouldn’t have. Though he knew a lot of it had to do with nostalgia and sentimentality, he just couldn’t see what Elganon saw in such a life. What was there to really be sentimental about? Creaking floors and moisture coming in from the leaky roof whenever it rained?

“As I said before,” Astarion began to say. “Let’s focus on taking things one day at a time.” He pressed Elganon back down against the table, planting kisses along his bare chest and abdomen, enjoying how the other man’s body undulated with steady breaths at the attention.

“Mnh… O-Okay,” Elganon replied, arching his back. His steadily growing erection rubbed against the lump of Astarion’s throat when the kisses trailed down beneath his belly button, and the vampire’s amused chuckle vibrated the organ pleasantly.

“Careful with that,” Astarion purred, curling his fingers around Elganon’s shaft. “It’s essentially a dangerous weapon.”

Though Astarion meant that as a compliment, Elganon thought he was referring to a recent mishap. “I’m very sorry for poking you in the eye the other night,” said the warlock sheepishly.

The uncomfortable memory brought a frown to the elf’s pale lips. “Right. That. All in the past, dear.” It still hurt sometimes when he blinked, but he was sure that it would fully heal. Eventually. At least he no longer had the purple ring around his eye; the other members of their party wouldn’t stop asking about its mysterious origin since none of them had seen him get struck in the face in combat recently.

After teasing the shaft of Elganon’s cock with his skilled tongue, he felt he’d earned a little nibble of the man’s juicy thigh, but before he could bite in, he smacked his forehead upon Elganon’s blocking palms. Seriously!?

“No,” Elganon said curtly. “My legs need a rest, I think.”

True. Looking upon them now, they were indeed littered with bite marks and bruises. It was fortunate that Elganon tended to most of his own wounds. Any unaware physician would have been horrified to see the state of the young man’s body. Now that they’d been together for quite some time since their journey began, it was evident that he had become Astarion’s favorite snack. From a distance, it might look like Elganon had dozens of body tattoos from the jaw down.

Astarion’s brow wrinkled in frustration when he couldn’t find a spot that wasn’t in the early stages of healing on Elganon’s front, so he flipped him onto his belly to examine the back side. Not many viable options there, either. He couldn’t exactly bite into his lover’s spine, unless he _wanted_ him to be paralyzed for the rest of his life, which he didn’t.

Drawing blood from the buttocks wasn’t easy, since there was a lot of obstructive fat there (not that Astarion minded that in the slightest—he’d never seen a cuter backside, and it even had adorable little dimples on the sides of each cheek), but it would just have to do, until other areas on the half-elf’s body became less tender and swollen.

“Ah!” Elganon jumped as sharp fangs sank into his bottom. He clutched the side of the table and curled his toes, blinking the tears from his eyes. Because he wiggled so much when the bite came as a surprise, Astarion lost his grip and had to penetrate the flesh a second time to find the vein he tasted again. 

No good. One more try.

“Ow! Ow! Ow! Are you drinking my blood, or are you trying to eat my flesh now!?” the warlock cried out, clawing at the silk tablecloth and pressing the side of his head hard against the surface until most of the agony passed. He was staining the tablecloth with his running eye makeup.

Astarion let go, only because he still couldn’t pin down a large enough vein, and said, “I’m trying to be gentle! I really am! I’m just…having a difficult time figuring out where to aim!”

Elganon whined as he wept when his gnawed flesh was exposed to the warm climate of the bedroom. Apparently Astarion’s cool mouth was the main thing that numbed the pain; ironic since it was also causing it at the same time. He reached behind himself with shaking hands to guide Astarion’s face to a specific location on his backside.

“Tr-Try there,” the half-elf said with a sniffle.

It would’ve made sense to ask the one who knew more about anatomy where to bite, wouldn’t it? Although, Astarion had a hard time admitting when these things eluded him. A seasoned vampire, spawn or otherwise, ought to know where to bite, shouldn’t they?

Astarion almost wanted Elganon to be wrong on this, if only to preserve some of his ego, but when he bit down (being more careful and slow this time), his teeth pierced right into an acceptable vein, from which the blood flowed freely. Soothed, the vampire closed his eyes, cupping Elganon’s buttocks in his hands and squeezing gently to release more of the delicious plasma. 

The pressure made a small amount of crimson fluid ooze from the vampire’s failed attempts to feed, and it trickled down his fingers as he massaged the muscles of Elganon’s backside. Astarion planned to lick it clean, if it wasn’t too dry by the time he was finished with the main course.

While he was down there, Astarion thumbed at the warlock’s hole and stroked at his sensitive taint with a finger. There was a place that he’d like to try drinking from, if he weren’t sure that it would be unbearably painful for Elganon. The skin felt so hot and delicate there. It was unfortunate that the man’s genitals had to remain off the menu, considering the fact that when they were intimate together, that’s where most of the blood went, anyway. But Astarion made a promise that he’d never break that boundary, and if he expected their little arrangement to continue, he’d have to keep it, sadly. 

Elganon might forgive him for going too far out of curiosity, in time, but Astarion was rather fearful of the man’s mysterious demon patron, whom he’d never spoken with outside of the few things that Elganon was told to relay. Astarion swore he detected the presence of the demon via the Illithid tadpole’s psychic link once, but the aura was like a dark obscuring shadow or fog, and with all the forebodingness of a coming storm. 

Whatever kind of person the demon was, he didn’t want to piss it off for damaging its property. Astarion got a little jealous when he was reminded of the pact between Elganon and the demon. A part of him liked to think that all these marks he left behind on the half-elf’s body made him his own. He only liked to share when it was on _his_ terms.

“Astarion.” That was the vampire’s cue to stop, so he did. He licked his fangs clean, then his hand, before nursing at the wounds on his lover’s bloodied rump. When the bleeding ceased, for the most part, Astarion set to work with fetching some lubricant with which to prepare himself and his beloved. Astarion was afraid that by the time he got through rummaging through all the drawers of useless junk, his erection would be gone, but Elganon once again pointed him in the right direction.

The high elf spent more time pampering himself than Elganon, and only noticed that was the case when the half-elf whined for his attention. “Oh, be patient,” Astarion scoffed, stroking himself for a little while longer. He had a good rhythm going that he was reluctant to break.

Elganon laid on his back again, lifting his own legs up into the air as high as he could hold them. With an eyeroll, Astarion figured he may as well get in between them before the silly man started making humiliating mating calls. 

After meeting some of Elganon’s adoptive family, he now knew where most of this strangeness originated from. He could only imagine (not that he wanted to) what “the talk” Elganon received was like when he went through puberty. Assuming anyone ever explained anything to him at all.

Astarion gripped him by the ankles and spread his legs apart.

“Aren’t you going to take your clothes off first?” asked the warlock innocently. It must have been a little embarrassing for him to be the only one fully undressed, while Astarion only had his top unbuttoned and pants pulled down below his hips just enough to expose his sallow erect member.

“Don’t worry about me, dear; I’m fine.” Astarion couldn’t bring himself to admit that he felt more powerful this way. He did enjoy the freedom of being perfectly naked, but it also left him vulnerable in a way that sometimes troubled him for reasons he didn’t want to sit down and explore in his mind anytime soon.

The vampire positioned the tip of his cock over the warlock’s slick entrance, then pushed inside slowly, filling his dead lungs with air as he took in a sharp breath through his nose. At the point that he exhaled, he was halfway inside of the man, warmth enveloping him like a soft blanket. 

He couldn’t help but ponder something that never crossed his mind before now: Did Elganon enjoy sex with him only because he’d never been with anybody else before? Would he have been happier with a livelier body against his own?

A more concerning thought followed.

…Or was Elganon a bit more like his surrogate uncle Astarion met in the graveyard, and was blissfully unaware of such inclinations since Astarion had been his only partner? He hated to think that Elganon might be cursed with such a morbid fascination. It worked out for their relationship if so, but it was otherwise an unfortunate affliction of the mind.

Shifting away from his troubling thoughts for the sake of his sanity, Astarion watched with interest as Elganon mewled and rotated his hips with each slow thrust Astarion made. Since Elganon was purposely trying to be quiet enough to avoid being heard by the other occupants of the tower downstairs, they could both hear the wet sounds caused by the abundantly applied lubricant. It was delightful.

Astarion wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Elganon so relaxed. The half-elf’s dark shoulder-length hair spilled out like an oil slick around his head, his eyes were shut loosely, his lips were parted, and his breaths were slow, almost as if he were sleeping. But Elganon never slept peacefully, for that matter; he always appeared to be having nightmares.

The half-elf’s hands slipped down to his own shaft, playing with it experimentally while his hole was filled with his lover’s girth. The warm, wettened muscles pulsed around Astarion’s member like an exciting heartbeat. The sweet hums and small satisfied smiles Elganon made as Astarion pleasured him softened the vampire’s predatory gaze. His pupils dilated, and he tilted his head to kiss at the half-elf’s slender calves. When Elganon’s smile widened, so did his own.

Astarion couldn’t stand the fact that they were two separate entities when they were connected so deeply in moments like this. He put one booted foot against the table, angling himself so that he could penetrate his partner deeper, going even slower, yet using more impact with each thrust.

The thrill turned Elganon’s lips a deeper color, and he was gasping louder.

_Take me. Take me!_

The desire within the telepathic request made Astarion harder, but to Elganon’s puzzlement, the vampire pulled out. “Did you come?” He certainly didn’t feel it, if Astarion had.

Instead of answering, Astarion lifted Elganon up, and with a squeak, the warlock draped his legs around him for support as he was carried over to the window and held to the glass with the front of his body pressed into it. One of Elganon’s legs were lifted up, and Astarion entered him again. The movement had Elganon’s cock and stiffened nipples stroked by the glass, and though the resistance of the firm surface felt amazing, Elganon was even more mortified by the new location.

“Can’t we just take this to the bed?” Elganon cried, resenting himself for appreciating this as much as he did.

Astarion nibbled on his earlobe, grinning with the flesh carefully held between his teeth until he let go. “I wanted to get a better view of the sunrise, my love. After all, I don’t imagine I’ll have the opportunity to view many more of these once we resolve this mind flayer issue. Besides, your body tells me that you’re _loving_ this.”

Outside on the windowsill was a bird that made a sharp whistle, craning its head in every which way as it peered up at the sight of the two men having sex against the window. Elganon scrutinized it in return, wondering if it was purposely watching, or was just trying to go about its business and couldn’t help but look. Whatever sort of business birds had. 

It glanced over its shoulder and flapped its wings, then called for its friends. “Oi! Come ‘ave a look at this.”

Two other birds perched on either side of it at the windowsill, observing the scene interestedly with their beady black eyes and tilting their heads as the first one did.

“Heh, you were right! Elf cocks _do_ look like giant worms,” said one of the two new arrivals.

“I think this one’s only a half-elf,” corrected the original bird.

The third member of the feathered trio said, “Well I’d say he’s not _half-bad_!” She covered her beak with a wing while she made a chirping laugh.

“I wonder what the taller one’s got goin’ on. He looks full elf. I think,” the second bird rumbled.

“Maybe if we keep watchin’, we’ll find out,” suggested the third, and now the three birds sat on the windowsill together silently, though they would occasionally get up to hop side to side, hoping to get a better view.

Elganon usually enjoyed the fact that he could understand animals, but now was not one of those times.

Wait. If _they_ could see them through the window, then that meant…

That’s when Elganon noticed that Wyll was standing outside, staring up at the window at the top of the tower, dumbfounded by the visual. Reading the human’s lips (though his disappointed glare and arm waving was a more obvious indication of his feelings on the matter), he was fairly certain that Wyll was saying something about them being “bloody perverts”.

That was around the time when Elganon came on the window.

He was probably never going to live that down, and rightfully so.

* * *

On the proceeding night when the party was gathered at the dwarf’s dinner table for terrible food and equally displeasing fellowship, things were clearly getting heated between Astarion and the tower’s owner. At least, Astarion was certainly at his wit’s end. The dwarf was hardly bothered.

When he’d had enough, Astarion slammed his fists against the table, shouting, “Tell your _prick_ of a dwarven father to stop PELTING MY FACE with GARLIC _right this instant_ , Elganon!” 

Orebos had been doing it the entire time they were all seated around the table this evening, and the monstrous high elf couldn’t take it anymore!

“I dunnae get it, Elg,” said the gray dwarf, losing interest on his own. “Ye said Frilly Rumplebottom over ‘ere wuz a vampire, but garlic dunnae hurt ‘im! Wot gives?” 

Astarion was seething as he was ignored by everyone around him, aside from Wyll and Gale snickering and muttering to each other about the bullying he’d been receiving from the duergar since they arrived to stay at Elganon’s childhood home for as long as they had business in Baldur’s Gate. 

It was cheaper than staying at an inn, which they couldn’t afford, Elganon said. Astarion would _love_ it there, Elganon said.

Astarion wished he cut the half-breed’s throat when he had the chance.

…No, he didn’t; he loved him dearly, and that’s why he continued to suffer all the ill treatment. Besides, he was convinced this was all a test that the dwarf was putting him through. Surely, he was trying to make Astarion prove his loyalty to his son. Well, he would show _him_!

He flinched, rubbing his tightly clenched fists with his thumbs, and gritting his fangs harder when a whole piece of garlic was bounced off the center of his forehead.

_I swear to any gods that will hear me that I will end this fucking dwarf._

There was a pounding at the shop’s locked front door that drew the attention of everyone at the table. Tabalecus stood up from his chair and retrieved the musket he had leaning against the wall, in the event that one of Candulhallow’s people showed up. Lately, the tower’s mysterious illusory defenses had been keeping them safe, but as a result, business was a little slow since customers kept getting lost or confused by the ever-shifting enchantments.

At times, the entire building would move locations from one end of the Lower City to the next, and it would take on the appearance of other buildings that didn’t stand out as much. For some reason, Elganon’s party had no trouble seeing the tower for what it truly was, especially now that they were staying there, aside from the sporadic oddity.

The party expected to hear gunfire shortly after Tabalecus left the room, but instead came the scampering of small feet. A very bizarre-looking gnome appeared. Was it a gnome? She looked more like a goblin with her sharp teeth and mottled skin that made her appear more feral in nature, although it was very possible that her teeth were sharpened, while the patchy discolored skin might have indicated leprosy. Or could she be undead?

Whatever the explanation was for such an unusual specimen of a gnome, she hopped up on the table and danced around excitedly with a shiv clutched in one hand. Tabalecus ran back in behind the gnome, aiming the gun in her direction, but had no intentions of shooting her.

“Gods dang it, Kahi, get off tha table, ‘fore I hafta fire a warnin’ shot. These bullets are expensive, y’know,” sighed Tabalecus, training the barrel near her feet.

“Do you know this little monster?” Astarion asked Elganon with wide eyes. Did it get any weirder around here?

“Yeah, Kahira’s… interesting. She lives on the streets around here. We offered to let her stay with us once, but she likes it out there,” Elganon explained, watching the gnome’s antics with very little surprise. “She’s a bit crazy; thinks she’s part goblin.”

“I gets to stab more people on the streets,” said Kahira, on the verge of having Lae’zel skewer her with a fork if she kept up her annoying little jig that shook the dinner table and everything on it.

Orebos leaned across the table to shoo the gnome, but she evaded his stubby arm with nimble ease. “Piss off, ye little bugger. I’ve not got any food fer ye. Only workin’ folk get ta eat ‘ere.” He was stabbed in the hand by her shiv, and he withdrew to squeeze his hand tightly before it started bleeding, not wanting the vampire in the room to get any ideas. “Ye little shit!”

Kahira cackled and spun around gleefully. “Not here for food. Mum says pay your tab.”

“Who’s “Mum”?” asked Gale, removing his cup of wine from the table before it was spilled into his lap. It wasn’t the best wine he’d ever had, but why waste it?

Elganon groaned. “The madam of a brothel he frequents.”

“She’s a real nice lady,” said Tabalecus, peering down the barrel of his musket. “Real persnickety about pay, though.”

Orebos grunted a warning at the other necromancer. “Tab, if you even _think_ about putting another hole in my table…”

“In all fairness, I don’t think Orebos has paid his debts in an age,” Elganon admitted, eyeing his father-figure worriedly. “With all the existing trouble going on, it might be worthwhile to do so. Madam Mum also offers protection services. Bodyguards and the like. Something to consider.”

“If her enforcers are anything like her debt-collecting gnome here, they probably would keep anyone away.” Wyll couldn’t help but be amused by the impish Kahira. “It’d definitely help us sleep better at night. It’s exhausting having to take turns keeping an eye out for trouble on top of having to worry about this whole mind flayer business.”

“Hah! Keep an eye out. Good one, Wyll,” said Gale, nudging the human warlock with his elbow.

Wyll shrank a little along with his pride. “The pun was unintended, but sure, we’ll go with that.”

“Oh. My mistake.” Gale awkwardly sipped from his wine glass and took a sudden interest in his own shoes.

Astarion leaned in his chair closer to Elganon, muttering into his ear, “We don’t even have the money for an inn. How are we going to afford to help the old geezer pay off his tab, much less purchase protection from this madam?”

Normally, Elganon never had the courage to ask his miserly employer to actually spend his own money. In fact, Elganon was often giving the dwarf back all of his weekly allowance almost as soon as he’d earned it when Orebos would ask to “borrow” it; Elganon was too timid to say no back then, but throughout his current travels, he was getting better about voicing his true opinions.

“Orebos, you have an emergency fund, don’t you? I know you’ve been holding onto it for a long time, but—"

“Absolutely not, lad! I ain’t spendin’ a copper from tha’!” snapped the gray dwarf.

The legs of Elganon’s chair squealed against the floor when he shot up from his seat, placing his palms against the table. “This is a matter of life or death, Orebos! We will reimburse you as soon as we’re able! I have no doubt that somewhere along the way, we’ll encounter some treasure, and then you’ll have your precious coin back and then some! Just please, for once, do the right thing!”

A pleased smile curled Lae’zel’s lips, causing her to set down her fork and think twice about stabbing her companion’s irritating little gnome friend. Perhaps the half-elf warlock _did_ have some nerve hidden somewhere under all that cowardice.

Everyone jumped when Tabalecus’ musket fired, blowing apart what was left of the roasted boar head on the table. Those who got chunks of boar meat on them weren’t pleased.

Shadowheart’s blood bubbled with anger, but she kept herself calm with a deep breath. _She’d just bathed, too_.

“Whoops. Sorry. Shouldn’ta put my finger on tha trigger. That was an accident,” mumbled the old man, putting the gun away in embarrassment.

Orebos sighed, wiping boar meat off his bald head and plucking it out of his braided beard as well before sinking his face into his open hands. “Alright, lad, but only because this had better make us even about me never tellin’ ye about yer father.”

Astarion quirked an eyebrow curiously, but Elganon didn’t acknowledge his inquisitive gaze when it was turned upon him.

Elganon sat back down in his chair, knees still quivering from the startling gunshot. “Fine by me.”

The gnome cheered victoriously and leaped off the table. “You pay, I get paid! Good! Come now.”

The collective party was skeptical of the wisdom of following the hobbling little creature, but if it would result in freeing up some of their burden, then so be it.

* * *

“Are you sure she’s not just trying to mug us?” Astarion whispered to Elganon, keeping one hand on the hilt of his holstered dagger and moving so close behind him that it was a little inappropriate.

He couldn’t really be blamed. So much for knowing Baldur’s Gate like the back of his hand: He was totally lost in these winding alleyways that Kahira was leading them through. Alright, so, next time someone asked him how well he knew the city, he would clarify that he knew of the _important_ parts that were at least halfway worth visiting.

Didn’t they already pass the house with the bloated dead rat lying beside the front door six times now, or did this part of the city really have that many dead rats all over the place? Actually, he didn’t want to know the answer to that question.

“We’re almost there,” Elganon assured the impatient elf with a gentle pat, and sure enough, they came to an area that opened up into a regular street again. Good. 

Astarion was tired of being reminded of what he was beginning to consider as his old life, where he spent too much time skulking through dark corners in the city. The life that came after he was turned into a vampire spawn. No one ever said there were any limits on how many times a person could turn over a new leaf. Three was supposed to be a lucky number, wasn’t it?

On the other hand, brothel-dwelling seemed even more pathetic of an alternative. Especially one so low-class as the one their party now stood before. If there wasn’t so much revelry going on both inside and out, one might think the place derelict from the condition it was in. The shape it was in was either poorer or, at best, on par with the tower Elganon grew up in, but it probably didn’t have the excuse of age—the brothel’s wooden boards were badly neglected and abused by the elements and the patrons alike, no doubt.

The only benefit Astarion could imagine it having was that it must have made it easy to elude suspicion whenever necessary. Why, just lock everyone inside, blow out the candles, and pretend no one’s home. The city guard was always overworked, so it wasn’t as if their investigations were very in-depth. They might show up for a few moments, peek into the broken windows, shrug, and leave until another disturbance was reported. 

Such was life in Baldur’s Gate, and that kind of criminal justice _especially_ frustrated the lesser nobles who expected full-blown trials for every minor transgression they experienced in their day-to-day lives. Astarion quite enjoyed it when he’d see a fellow noble decide to go slumming it, only to have their fun spoiled by a mishap and be further disappointed by the indifference of the guards. The tantrums that broke out were delicious.

“It’s the Lower City. What did you expect?” was the common retort, and only new recruits ever feared the wrath of “my father’s cousin’s uncle who lives all the way over in Ahm” when he would inevitably “hear about this horrible treatment from you state-appointed thugs”.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so dreadful hanging out with “Elganon’s people”, after all. So long as they weren’t as surly as the gray dwarf or as depraved as the necrophiliac, anyway.

“Kahi, what’s with the parade of freaks?” asked a drunken man holding a bottle of rum he was nursing from. Going by the strong stench of alcohol radiating from him, he probably had too much to drink inside, so now he’d decided to do all the rest of his drinking outside. The loophole seemed to be working out for him so far.

The unusual gnome sized up her companions with a grin coming on, then said, “They’re the new whores!”

“What!? I agreed to no such thing! Besides, I don’t think any of your common rabble could afford my price,” Astarion blathered, taking the joke seriously. He didn’t want to give the gnome the benefit of the doubt, considering how strange the past few days had been, and he also hadn’t realized that he was holding onto Elganon’s arm to instinctively indicate that he was already spoken for, should the man ask his theoretical price.

Lae’zel was even less humorous about the gnome’s joke. She walked right up to the little creature, grabbing her by the jaw and lifting her up to eye-height with herself. “Speak ill of me again, even in jest, and I will crush your throat with my bare hands. Are we clear?” The gnome bobbed her head agreeably. This was probably the first time Kahira had actually been this calm in her life. “Good.”

Kahira was mercifully set back down onto her feet. “Okay, they’re with the gray guy,” she corrected herself, gesturing to Orebos who lumbered from the back of their group to the forefront with Tabalecus at his side.

“Ore! Tab!” the drunkard cried out with cheer. “Ain’t a party without you two! Sadly, I can’t go back in tonight, but make sure ya stop for a chat on the way out, eh? I’ll be here.” He took another swig of his drink.

“’Course,” said Tabalecus, ushering the party inside. “Take it easy.”

The décor was a lot nicer on the inside of the brothel, but all very tacky in an attempt to mimic high-class from the point of view of the low-class. Risqué paintings were hung upon the wall with the intent of enticing customers (Astarion had to bite back a laugh when Elganon innocently pointed out a painting of a “flower” that he liked particularly well; it was certainly no flower.); the once-regal furniture was scuffed to hells and back and the upholstery had become faded and frayed (Astarion was sad to say that it reminded him of his current attire; he really needed to convince his beloved Elganon to lend him the money for a good tailor, since surely Orebos wouldn’t notice some of that protection money was skimmed off the top. It would go to a good cause!); and the wallpaper and rugs were just about done for. (But at least they _had_ wallpaper and rugs. Astarion fussed at Elganon that his home looked like a dungeon. It greatly disheartened the half-elf, but it was true. If Astarion was in charge of the décor… Gods, was he actually picturing himself living there permanently? He needed to divert his attention elsewhere right away before he started making plans about what colors the linens ought to be.)

Noticing that everyone else in their group had wandered off to various corners of the room while Orebos and Tabalecus spoke with the bartender, asking for the location of the madam, Astarion entwined Elganon’s fingers with his own as discreetly as he could manage and led his partner over to the bar to have a seat, convinced in his own mind that their companions never noticed when they held hands. They did, but it was as if everyone had made a silent pact to never bring the subject up. As they say, “out of sight, out of mind”, and after it became a regular occurrence to overhear the two’s…private affairs, nobody wanted to be reminded of what they were up to behind closed doors any more than they were already made aware of, like it or not.

Now the elf was examining the patrons and the staff members they were mingling with, be they serving staff or prostitutes. It was difficult to tell one from the other because even the men and women serving food and drink were in revealing outfits and in various stages of undress. Maybe even they were for hire?

Astarion smirked at Elganon, observing that his lover was looking around the room, too. “See one you like?” he murmured teasingly.

“Erm…” Elganon scratched his head, messing up his already tangled black hair; he probably hadn’t had the chance to wash it in a few days, and Astarion would have to fix that when they got back to the tower. “I see a few people that I recognize, but I wouldn’t call us friends,” he answered, misunderstanding the question just as much as Astarion misunderstood the proceeding answer.

The vampire’s eyes lit up and his mouth hung open in excited awe. “I thought you said you were a virgin when we became an item!” he replied, positively intrigued rather than upset.

“I wasn’t lying!” Elganon responded, lowering his head bashfully. His hair, as it draped over his face, obscured some of the color that had appeared on his cheeks. “Orebos and Uncle Tabby have been taking me here for years. I’ve never slept with anyone—I’ve only had a few drinks at the bar while I waited on them to, ah, conclude their business here.”

Astarion frowned a little. “So, you’d just mope over here and get drunk by yourself, then? That’s… depressing.”

“Juice, actually.”

“Hm?”

“I’d mostly just drink juice.”

The pale elf’s brows knitted together concernedly. “Oh, that’s even _more_ tragic.”

“It gets worse,” said a woman’s voice that drew the attention of the two men. 

Elganon recognized the human woman; she started working there around the time he’d reached maturity (Orebos wasn’t the best of parents – when Elganon was younger, he was left here in the tavern area to be looked after by the staff) and he assumed that they must have been about the same age. He could never remember the woman’s name—Hells, he could barely remember anyone’s names here, since he was afraid to get to know many people on a personal level—but she always attempted to strike up conversation with him whenever he was here.

As far as Elganon could remember, she grew up on a farm not far from the city, but had dreaded the thought of perpetual life on a farm with an oafish husband and a pack of screaming babes; that wasn’t the future for her. Instead, she hoped that by coming here, she could lead a more exciting life, and if she were lucky, find a handsome and lonely adventurer to whisk her away to a grand life that would end in a noble status and a manor full of treasures and opulence. 

A lot of people who came to Baldur’s Gate had such dreams, but they rarely ever came true. Usually, they found themselves living hand-to-mouth and disappointed that they ever left home for this city.

“Did you tell your handsome friend here about your birthday? You know the one.” The young woman giggled, sitting in the stool on the other side of the warlock and brushing strands of long wavy hair out of her soft freckled face.

“Pl-Please don’t…” Elganon put his face in his palms shamefully, in case he started to weep.

Astarion leaned over in his barstool to peer over his partner at the woman, grinning from ear to ear. “Please do!”

“Alright, well…” She scooted her chair closer to the high elf, lowering her voice a tad to keep the conversation private, and placed a hand on Elganon’s shoulder. “When poor Elg here became a man, Orebos an’ Tabby thought it was high time he had himself a go at a lady. You know, to make his comin’ of age official, right?”

“I like where this is going already,” Astarion purred, moving closer with interest. Both he and the woman had sandwiched the warlock between them with their torsos now, acting as if he wasn’t there.

“So, they pooled some coin together, I suppose, an’ got ‘im someone who could show ‘im the ropes. Be real patient-like. Not make ‘im all nervous, right? No easy task,” she continued.

“Indeed,” agreed Astarion, well aware of how timid his lover was. He patted Elganon’s other shoulder when the half-elf made an offended noise.

“There’s one person in particular here who’s real good with first-timers like that.”

“Oh?”

“Mum.”

Astarion barely hold back a snicker. “W-Wait, isn’t that the madam of this brothel?”

“Mmhm.”

“And how old is she, exactly?”

“Old enough to be Elg’s own mum, that’s for sure,” the woman answered, chuckling. “She’s sort of like everyone’s mum here, really. Hence the name.”

“Gods, how scandalous!” Astaroin moved Elganon’s hands away from his face so that he had no choice but to look him in the eye. “You poor thing. Now I see why you have so many issues.” He paused. “But if you said you were a virgin…”

“That’s the funny part,” chimed in the young woman again. “They didn’t even have sex. Orebos and Tabby paid for a whole night with ‘er, an’ all he did was sob his eyes out while she coddled ‘im. Poor thing. I suppose that’s what happens when you’ve got no real mum of your own. At least he had a good cry.”

“I was scared!” Elganon cried out. “I don’t see how anyone could be comfortable with paying for sex. And she used to babysit me when I was a kid; how was I supposed to be alright with such an arrangement?”

Before Astarion could make a witty retort, a tall curvaceous (in the motherly sort of way) human woman rushed over and lightly shoved Astarion and the young prostitute aside so that she could drape her thick arms around Elganon’s neck in a big hug that had his face buried in her very ample bosom. Astarion wondered if she even had a torso under all of that, as her body seemed to continue directly on to her wide hips that could probably separate a fight all by themselves.

“Little Elgy! You’ve come home! Oh, how Mummy has missed you ever so much! How could you run away from home as you did, all without saying a word about it to me? I was heartbroken when Orebos told me! Absolutely heartbroken!” She doted over the young half-elf, straightening the loose strands of his oily hair with her hand before pulling out a handkerchief from her cleavage to dab at his eyes. 

“And you’ve been crying again. Poor thing. Has one of my girls said something to upset you?” The young prostitute next to the madam squirmed in her seat uncomfortably. “Tell Mummy all about it, dear.”

Elganon only put up a meager effort to pull away from the portly fussing matron, but quickly gave up when he saw it was of no use. He cast a “please help” glance at Astarion, but the high elf seemingly had no intention of doing any such thing; he was positively delighted by this turn of events.

“You must be Mum! It’s good to finally meet you, Madam. I’ve heard so much about you.” Astarion got up from his chair to greet her properly with a slight bow. “I am Astarion, Elganon’s…” Should he confess the true nature of their relationship? He thought he should; that would just make things all the more interesting. “…paramour.”

The middle-aged woman gasped enthusiastically at the high elf, allowing Elganon to keep her handkerchief (he continued to dry his eyes, feeling more embarrassed tears coming on), and reached out to gingerly pinch Astarion’s pale cheek, which wasn’t exactly the greeting he was expecting. “Oh, aren’t you a handsome thing? Just look at that hair! You’re like a precious little lamb.” Little did she know, he was more of a wolf in sheep’s clothing. “I am _thrilled_ to hear that Elganon has finally found himself someone special.” Mum bent forward to whisper a delicate question to Astarion. “Have you popped his cherry yet, so to speak?”

“Mum, _please_!” Elganon squeaked, crumpling the soaked cloth in his palm.

She turned back to Elganon, folding her hands at what little of her plump waist was visible. “I only ask out of concern, dear! It’s not natural for a man to live such an isolated life! You’ve got needs! You don’t want to end up in the looney bin, do you? ‘Cause that’s where men who don’t sow their oats go! Trust me, I’ve been in this business long enough to know! They go mad, they do! That’s why I opened this place. Can’t have poor lonely folk go crazy from a lack of companionship, not in this city. Folks here got enough troubles as it is!”

Elganon looked like he wanted to drop dead right then and there, especially when the young lady next to him started giggling hysterically.

“Oh, not to worry,” Astarion answered, grinning madly. “I take good care of his needs—I can assure you that much.”

“Good, good.” The matron smiled at the vampire, calming down. “Well, I’ve got some business to conduct with Mr. Orebos, but you two make yourselves at home. My door is always open, even when the sign says closed!”

Just as she was about to turn around, the aforementioned gray dwarf had sauntered up behind her and gave her a slap on the rear. “Oi! Ye done with tha boy yet, Mum?”

“Orebos, you naughty little boy! You know to keep your hands to yourself when I’m speaking to the customers!” she chastised him playfully, wagging a finger in his face. “Mummy’s going to have to punish you for that!”

Elganon put his face into his palm, sighing and pretending he was anywhere else but here. It made him so uncomfortable when he was subjected to his father’s flirting with anyone, but especially when it was with Madam Mum. Astarion, however, didn’t mind the show; he was repulsed, but fascinated by the exchange. The young lady seated with them, on the other hand, was completely unfazed – business as usual.

Orebos cackled gleefully as Mum eagerly chased him up the stairs, holding onto the skirt of her dress to keep herself from tripping over it. Evidently the business they would be conducting would entail more than just a collection of debts. Elganon shuddered at the thought.

“Does your father–,” Astarion started saying, but Elganon cut him short.

“Orebos doesn’t really prefer to be called my father.”

“Right. Anyway, do they “conduct business” together often?”

“He’s one of her regulars, yes.”

“And that is the same woman he tried to set you up with for your first time, correct?”

“Yes.”

Astarion blinked his eyes, then shrugged. “Keeping it in all the family, I suppose…”

“Listen, you aren’t the first one to make that observation, Astarion…”

The vampire laughed. “You don’t have to explain it to me, dear! I’m nobility, so such a thing is not entirely foreign to me.”

Elganon wished he had more nerve because he really wanted to give Astarion a slap right now. Just a little one to make a point. But since he didn’t, all he could do was slouch on his barstool and sulk pitifully while rubbing his face with the handkerchief Mum had given him.

The young prostitute seemed to have something on her mind when she peered between the two men thoughtfully. “Can I get either of you something to drink, by the way?” she asked, though Astarion had a feeling that wasn’t what she was actually dwelling on. “Or just… You know, are there any other _services_ you could use while you’re here?”

Astarion was looking right at her, but she refused to meet his gaze as she swallowed a lump in her throat in a way she thought was subtle. He smirked. “I can think of _something_ , now that you mention it… But I think it would be a conversation best had upstairs, wouldn’t you both agree?” He clasped his hands together, wringing them roguishly.

Whatever his lover had in mind, Elganon was sure that it would be something he’d come to regret because he knew already that he was probably going to go along with it. He always had a hard time saying no.

“Of course, good sir, lead the way!” said the young woman excitedly, jumping to her feet.

The three proceeded to slip through the crowd, avoiding the notice of their party along the way to the stairs. Gale was bragging about his arcane knowledge to a prostitute he was boring to tears, Lae’zel and Shadowheart were having an arm-wrestling competition at one of the tables while other patrons were making bets on who might win, Kahira the strange gnome had declared herself the one accepting the bets on Shadowheart and Lae’zel’s heated competition, and Wyll was seated across Tabalecus at one of the booths and in the middle of a discussion that was easy to overhear as the trio crept up the first steps of the stairway.

“Really? _You_ know Auntie Ethel?” Wyll asked the old man in disbelief, taking a long swig from the ale that had been served to him moments ago.

“Yep!” declared Tabalecus proudly. “We used ta be sweet on each other, once upon a time. My hair was still ginger back then, a’ course.”

“What happened between you two?”

“Well, you probably know how it is with hags, bein’ a monster hunter an’ all. It never lasts. Sooner or later, they wanna chop off your testes an’ brew ‘em in a potion! Eheheheh! It is what it is.”

“I…” Wyll tried his best to think of a response to that. “I didn’t know that, but I’ll keep it in mind from now on. Thanks for the, erm, tip. I’m sure it’ll come in handy.”

“Say, how’s ol’ Ethel doin’ these days? Actually, no, don’t tell me. It’ll make me miss ‘er too much. If ya see ‘er again anytime soon, though, tell ‘er I said hello, will ya?”

“S-Sure…”

* * *

Astarion eagerly sprinted up the staircase once they were out of earshot of their party, holding Elganon’s hand in his right, and the young human prostitute’s hand in his left.

“My room’s just ‘round the corner on your right,” said the young woman bashfully. “Never been picked by elven men before. Half or otherwise,” she added, clearly just as excited. “Only ever get ugly men. Brutes, really.”

The vampire tuned out her rambling and Elganon was so embarrassed that he was trying to pretend he could just disappear, although he’d already used his invisibility spell for today, but the woman kept prattling on about how handsome they both were – especially Astarion with his pretty platinum blonde hair, just like elves spoken of in the bedtime stories she was told as a child.

When Astarion brought the other two into the room, he locked the door behind them, and guided Elganon and the woman to the bed, where he made them sit down next to one another. He bowed his head towards the young woman and asked, “By the way, miss, I don’t believe I ever heard your name.”

“Miriam,” she answered, her face as red as his eyes when he addressed her directly. “But I prefer “Mimsy” if you don’t mind.”

Astarion chuckled, and he could hear her heartbeat quicken in response to his sultry voice. “Mimsy _is_ a more fun-sounding name.” He craned his head towards the warlock, whose heart was thumping even harder with nervousness. “Don’t you agree, my love?” 

Pursing his lips into a narrow line, feeling as if he’d swallowed his own tongue, Elganon nodded agreeably. Looking down, he saw that the sensation he felt on his thigh was Astarion massaging his lap, rubbing dangerously close to his groin area with the intent of exciting him in this unfamiliar situation.

Meanwhile, the vampire focused back on Mimsy. “Tell me, you’ve known my Elganon for quite some time, haven’t you? Have you ever given him a kiss with those rosy lips of yours?”

Mimsy shook her head no. She was normally not so shy, as far as Elganon remembered, but Astarion’s presence had a way of rendering even the bold speechless at times.

Astarion made an insincere gasp. “And why not? Two beautiful people in the same room over the course of several years… Surely, one couldn’t resist after a time!” He took joy in how flustered he was making the woman, who clearly knew nothing of romance if all she ever got was the type of unwashed men he saw crowding the tavern area downstairs. He tilted his head in Elganon’s direction. “Now is as good a time as any, isn’t it?”

Elganon’s eyes widened at his lover’s unexpected suggestion, but as he inched further away from her on the bed, the woman came closer, gazing at him with half-lidded eyes that were filled with desire. Clearly, she had thought of kissing him many a time.

“And Elganon, you’ve never kissed a _girl_ before, have you?” asked the vampire, smirking wider. “Obviously, you’ve kissed _me_ , but you’ve no experience with women, do you? You may find that you enjoy it just as much as you enjoy the company of a man.”

The half-elf tried to answer, but he couldn’t take his attention off the human that was scooting nearer with great determination.

Astarion’s features softened, as did his voice. He motioned at the woman with an upturned hand. “Kiss her. It will bring me great pleasure to see if I’ve taught you anything.” With that, he dismissed himself to the armchair at the back wall that faced towards the front of the bed, crossing one leg over his lap to observe his “student”.

Elganon’s mouth twitched uncertainly, but it seemed he was eager to make his lover happy, since he cautiously leaned in for a kiss – something that now came so easily when it was with Astarion, but was foreign all over again when it was somebody else.

The half-elf caressed her cheek, then brushed one side of her long wavy hair back behind her ear while putting his lips but a centimeter away from hers. He was hesitant to proceed, but she bridged the gap and took his bottom lip between her mouth, then came in for a full kiss in which she tried to enter Elganon’s mouth with her tongue. The entire time, he couldn’t take his eyes off Astarion; he was getting horrible stage fright.

Astarion smiled and waved his hand. “Look at her, not me. Pretend I’m not here, darling.” But it was difficult to when the undead elf undid the fastenings of his shirt, exposing his pale bare chest and rubbed at one of his own nipples with two fingers, occasionally pinching the budding flesh while chewing on his lip and breathing slowly. Mimsy was too distracted to even see this, and she was in the process of pushing Elganon’s back against the bed to allow herself to climb on top of him and straddle his slender waist.

She pulled the hem of her dress up above her hips, exposing herself to the half-elf. Now that he was actually looking, Elganon noticed how shapely her thighs were underneath the tattered gown that certainly didn’t do as much as it could have to flatter her figure, if only the brothel could afford a decent tailor. What’s more is that although he’d seen them in anatomy books Orebos sold at his shop, Elganon had never actually seen a real vagina up close before. As if knowing this, Mimsy moved forward to sit on his chest and seemingly went about showing him all the details of her womanhood.

Her lithe, lightly calloused fingertips parted the folds of her vulva and circled her flower-like labia minora for a while until she brought two fingers down upon the hood of her clitoris, squeezing the organ, which was becoming slightly engorged with arousal, and moaned, tilting her head back as he fingers rubbed up and down along that area. Apparently, that gave her the highest amount of pleasure, which surprised Elganon; he expected that a woman would be most aroused by penetration, but she was thoroughly enjoying herself without ever having stuck a single digit inside of her hole. Curious. He supposed the clitoris _did_ look like a little penis.

When he instinctively looked to Astarion for further direction, the vampire already had undone his trousers and was pumping his hardening cock in his hand in no particular hurry. Up and down, very languidly, he went, occasionally taking his hand off the shaft entirely to stroke the sensitive underside with the tip of his middle finger. His fangs glistened in the candlelight, and his contentment urged Elganon to continue on without disrupting his beloved’s enjoyment.

Now that guilt about being intimate with someone else wasn’t as much of a factor for Elganon, knowing that this was what Astarion expressly wanted, the warlock decided he would take this opportunity to experiment. Why not, if it made Astarion happy?

Elganon joined Mimsy in playing with her vulva. It was like touching a warm slug, but that wasn’t a bad thing; Elganon _liked_ slugs. They were cute little creatures, and they wriggled ever so delightfully. He even noticed that this one left its own slime trail on his fingers. When he brought his fingers up to his nose to have a smell, the woman laughed, embarrassing him all over again.

Noticing his insecurity, she shook her head and petted his soft black hair with her clean hand. “I didn’t mean to laugh—you’re just too precious, is all. You really should have taken me to bed sooner.”

A loud moan that escaped Astarion without the vampire’s intent to let it slip pulled Elganon’s eyes back away from the woman. Astarion’s cock was quivering in his hand, and the tip shone with precum. He was sprawled out in the armchair with his legs far apart and his forearm held across his face, his eyes shut tight. Barely a thing had transpired between Elganon and Mimsy, but Astarion was already being driven wild with lust. 

Elganon liked seeing him this way—so vulnerable and needy. His eyes met with Astarion’s when the vampire opened his again and lowered his arm from his face. Elganon smirked with purpose, and Astarion never saw that mischievous twinkle in his emerald eyes before. Astarion’s soul had been laid bare before him.

The warlock switched positions with the woman, and now she was sitting up on the bed while Elganon was bent over on his knees. He spread her thighs out wide, ensuring that Astarion had perfect view of his intentions, and took as much of the woman’s inner vulva into his mouth as he could. Mimsy squeaked delightedly, her chubby legs shivering. 

She ripped open her cheap bodice, exposing her breasts that were evidently larger than they looked even in her cleavage-revealing dress, yet were not as perky as they seemed when held in place. That was alright, Elganon thought when he investigated the tearing sound that came from above. Her breasts looked better this way—more natural and free. Her nipples were quite large, but they became smaller as they hardened underneath the touches and squeezing of her fingers.

He pressed a palm against her tender belly, urging her to lay down flat against the bed and to just relish in the moment while he moved one hand to play with her breasts for her and his tongue playfully lashed at her arousal-firm clitoris. Something about her nether regions reminded him of his intercourse with Astarion; it was the smell, but what was it?

Finding himself in a need of a breath of air, Elganon’s head rose up, his small chest expanding and contracting noticeably. Astarion was staring at his face. Furrowing his brow in confusion, Elganon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and immediately saw what had the vampire’s attention: Blood. Mimsy had begun to menstruate in the middle of their lovemaking.

Mimsy herself had thought that she’d done something terrible. “Ah, damn, I didn’t know Aunt Flo was comin’ for a visit today. I’m so, so sorry.” But Elganon was hardly disturbed. He just kept staring at his bloodied hand as he turned it from one side to the other curiously. 

The workings of the natural world fascinated so much to a point that he had the sense that if he hadn’t become a warlock or even a necromancer, he could have been a druid. All aspects of life, even those that were less glamorous to the common person, utterly fascinated him.

Astarion by this time was up and out of the chair, pushing Elganon to the side in a frenzy at the smell of fresh blood. He hadn’t eaten in hours, and his hunger for blood always overtook his almost as powerful desire for sex. However, in this situation, he could have both at once.

Like a man driven mad, the elf kicked off his boots, threw off his trousers, but did nothing more with his disheveled shirt prior to climbing in between the woman’s open legs. “Elganon,” he growled. “Ravish me. Fuck me in the arse; don’t hold back, and _don’t_ disappoint me.”

Elganon wanted to, but he’d never topped the other man before! Astarion _always_ took the lead. Though, Elganon _was_ extremely “worked up” by all the foreplay with the woman, going by the tent that was pitched in his pants.

Elganon got up from the bed and got fully undressed, taking a tiny lubricant vile from his pocket that he always kept with him now, just in case. Astarion liked surprises, so it never hurt to be prepared. Or rather, it never hurt when he _was_ prepared.

Just as he was about to uncork the bottle, he watched Astarion’s hips sway side to side while he lapped up Mimsy’s menstrual blood. Why should Astarion have all the fun with his tongue? Elganon wanted to show him that he was better with his own, and that the student exceeded the master.

So, resting the unopened bottle next to the pillow, he crawled back onto the bed and pressed his tongue against Astarion’s back entrance, which caught the man off guard. The tight hole puckered, so Elganon gave him some time to relax by instead moving his tongue down to his lover’s taint, which he licked, and cradled the elf’s neighboring tightened scrotum with his hand delicately. His hand moved from Astarion’s balls to the shaft of his cock, tending to the pulsing organ at the same pace the vampire was using earlier.

Astarion’s wanton moans vibrated against the woman’s vulva ever so slightly, and she couldn’t help but grind her clitoris against the bridge of his nose. Truth be told, he didn’t care about her pleasure in the slightest; he only wanted her blood. If she was getting off to this, that was purely coincidental.

The vampire’s legs almost buckled out from beneath him when his lover’s tongue penetrated his hole. He wasn’t used to being the receiver in the bedroom; not anymore. With anyone else, he’d have resisted, but he trusted Elganon and wanted his seed inside of him. He wished this of him for a long time, but he hadn’t the courage to ask directly until it was all happening rather spontaneously right now. Elganon was taking dominance over him, and though at first he was afraid, when he’d eased into the sensation of the half-elf’s tongue wriggling inside of him, all was right in the world. Having blood to sate his undying hunger also helped with easing his nerves. With his eyes shut and his mouth supplied with at least a sparse supply of blood that he practically had to suck from the orifice to get out, Astarion completely forgot that they were in the midst of a threesome.

Astarion discretely nibbled on the thick outer lips of the woman’s clean-shaven vagina to draw more blood, and let his mind slip away for a while. Soon, Elganon’s tongue was replaced with lubricant-slickened fingers that were stretching him out with a gentle scissoring motion that Astarion leaned into with perfect timing as the half-elf’s fingers opened and closed.

The vampire whimpered and whined much in the way that Elganon did when Astarion was giving it to him. Speaking of “it”, Astarion couldn’t help but clench his muscles when the tip of the warlock’s erection tried to replace the fingers.

_It’s only Elganon. No one else. You’re safe, Astarion._

Tears were rolling down Astarion’s face, but not because he was in any physical pain; Elganon wasn’t even in him yet. He shot up from the bed, throwing Elganon off him and scaring the woman under him with his sudden outburst. “I can’t do it! I can’t do it!” he shrieked, tearing his shirt in grief as he stormed over to the nearest bare wall to lean against it and weep.

This must have been the fault of Elganon’s lethargic presence – that was it, he told himself. He couldn’t always resist it. Even when Elganon was happy, there was a lingering sadness to him that was seemingly of a magical nature. That was why he was crying. It wasn’t because of his–…

Instinctively, a habit carried over from his mortal life, Astarion tried to examine himself in the standing mirror next to him, only to be reminded that he couldn’t see how pitiful he looked with tears in his eyes. Enraged and snarling like an animal, he tossed aside the mirror and it shattered against the rickety wooden flooring.

The young woman screamed, covering herself back up with her torn dress. She was no longer so eager to bed the pretty blonde elf, and her fear only made him angrier.

“GET OUT OF HERE! GO!” Astarion roared at her, pointing at the door and having no issue with evicting her from her own room. She didn’t mind, either – she was ready to make herself scarce before anything worse happened besides a broken mirror.

She leaped off the bed, ran out of her room, and slammed the door behind her as if that might stop a pursuing vampire, should he decide to give chase. Luckily for her, Astarion stayed right where he was, fuming while Elganon watched with an open mouth and that frightened deer expression he always got on his face when he was scared. The sight made Astarion freeze up himself. 

He must have seemed like a true monster, the way he acted just then. Hells… What came over him? Why did he let his temper get the better of him, and why couldn’t he control himself?

Astarion thought that all the love Elganon had for him must have dissipated forever in that moment, but now the warlock was watching him with the same gaze he had when Astarion confessed that he was a creature of the night, albeit only a spawn – a thrall – and not a truly free vampire. There was compassion there. Concern. A wish to make all the pain and suffering go away.

Elganon held his arms out, and his lover crawled into them. They both laid down together on the bed with their legs tangled together, and while they were no longer erect, it still felt nice to feel each other’s phalluses pressed against one another’s thighs. Astarion’s, as well as the rest of his body, was as cold as ice, but Elganon’s body heat warmed him, and that brought some comfort to the both of them even if the vampire didn’t need it.

“Is everything going to be alright, Astarion?” Elganon asked carefully, curling one of Astarion’s short platinum blonde strands of hair around his finger. He planted a kiss on his worry-wrinkled forehead and gave the vampire plenty of time to answer. He knew that he himself liked a minute to brood when he was feeling upset.

Astarion clenched his jaw, then opened it and gasps that threatened of impending sobs came out. “Please, Elganon, please… We have to kill him.”

“Kill who?” The warlock dried the tears that were coming from his eyes. He was surprised that they weren’t frozen solid.

“M-My master,” Astarion stammered, hiccupping and sniffling, then he made a choked, dry sound as tears continued to spill from his eyes. He held Elganon tighter, and Elganon did the same in return. “As long as he lives, I can _never_ be free. Not physically, not mentally…” He gasped again. “I feel so helpless…”

Elganon continued to stroke his hair, whispering, “Let it all out. You’re safe with me… All the hurt you feel, I feel it, too. You don’t have to carry the burden alone anymore.” 

Speaking truly, the next time the warlock’s eyes blinked, dripping wetness carried more of the mascara away from his eyelashes and stained his pallid face. The lovers wept together quietly, only pausing occasionally to kiss passionately. After enough kissing, they were hard again, but Elganon knew that now was not the time to try and continue where they left off.

They went about dealing with their desires another way—simply touching and stroking each other between kisses.

“Astarion, I love you,” the warlock murmured close to his ear.

The vampire moaned and kissed his cheek. “And I you.”

“If you ever become a free vampire, will you make me yours?”

The question startled Astarion, and he didn’t know what to say. “Elganon, it’s not as romantic as you think it is.”

But the other man argued, “I know you would be good to me, and I want to be with you forever. I want to share in your burden. I can’t like this, as a mortal. Not as much as I could if we shared the curse. I’m not saying you must make your mind up about it now, but at least consider it. I want this for us.”

Astarion chuckled sadly, leaning their foreheads together. “Oh, Elganon…”

Even after all of Astarion’s efforts to corrupt the poor young man, he was still too pure for this wretched world.

* * *

In the coming weeks, the party had become accustomed to living at the tower throughout their adventures in Baldur’s Gate. It was nice to have somewhere reliable and safe to come back to, especially now that there was plenty of hired muscle stalking the premises. Borrowing Orebos’ life savings for that had turned out to be worth it because their journey had attracted the ire of more than just grudge-holding business owners. 

Now the only threats they really had to worry about were domestic disputes between the various residents of the tower, but hopefully no one had any assassination plans yet. Then again, Kahira had decided for them recently that she would now be accompanying them on their journey, and she was still a bit of a wildcard. Elganon assured them that she was trustworthy, but everyone knew he was a poor judge of character. If he weren’t, their team wouldn’t exist at all.

At this time of evening, Elganon was sitting in a tub full of water and suds in his bedroom while Astarion was knelt beside him, applying soap to the man’s scalp. The half-elf winced and fidgeted in the tub when a stray droplet had gotten into his eye.

“Stop squirming, dear. I’m almost done,” commanded Astarion with a scolding click of his tongue.

Whining, Elganon cupped water into his hands and rinsed his face carefully, then reached for the nearby rag to dry around his eyelid to relieve the discomfort. “I can wash my own hair, you know…”

“Yes, but I actually know what I’m doing. Your hair is so greasy from the way _you_ do it, darling. Besides, you’re so adorable that I can’t _help_ but want to dote over you. Now lower your head.”

When Elganon did as he was bid to, Astarion dipped a jug into the water, then poured it over his lover’s hair to rinse it. He did this several times until he couldn’t see any more suds.

“There you are. Good as new.” The vampire set the jug aside, waving the remaining water off his hands. He wiped his hands on a towel, which he then passed to Elganon as he was getting out of the bath. “Go ahead and dry yourself off. I believe I’m going to go downstairs and see what kind of pleasant-smelling herbs your father has in the drawers behind the store counter. You could use a little perfume, and I know just the thing.”

“You really shouldn’t be stealing from his stock, Astarion,” Elganon murmured uncertainly, shaking his wet hair like a dog before toweling himself off.

“It’s not _stealing_ , it’s _borrowing_ ,” Astarion explained, strutting over to the door. “And besides, it’s for _you_. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

The warlock sighed. “You’d be wrong about that, but I know that won’t stop you from doing it anyway…”

“You know me all too well, darling.” Astarion cracked open the door and blew him a kiss with an accompanying wink. “Try to look sexy and inviting for me by the time I come back, and I just may give you an oil massage as well.” He shut the door behind himself as soon as he left.

Astarion curiously examined all the oddities of medicine that filled the shelves – some of which being for décor rather than for sale – and wondered what the purpose of most of them were. There were odd tools that looked more like torture devices to him than a physician’s instruments, exotic plants that seemed more suited for poisons, a variety of organs and appendages suspended in strangely-hued fluids in jars, and he noticed that among the jars was a fetus of indeterminable species with one eye. It blinked at him.

“Eugh!” He shuddered and rushed behind the counter to start digging through drawers. That was enough of a tour through the shop for today, thank you. Of course, if he actually did any of the work he was told to do around here like his companions, he’d already be much more acquainted with the store’s bizarre wares.

His back was turned when the shop’s owner came sneaking up and grunted at him in displeasure. “Wot did I say abou’ messin’ with me shite, elf?”

Astarion spun around on his heel, slamming the open drawer behind him shut. “I was just looking!” he lied, hiding the few herbs he’d collected up the sleeves of his shirt behind his back.

“I ought tae kick yer arse, an’ throw ye outta me tower,” threatened the duergar with folded arms. “But I won’t.”

_I’d like to see you try, you wrinkled old bastard._

Astarion was fortunate that, as far as he was aware, Orebos couldn’t read minds.

The dwarf shocked him with what he said next. “Thanks fer takin’ care o’ Elganon. I know tha boy’s no adventurer, an’ ‘e’d probably be dead in a ditch somewhere if ye wuzn’t lookin’ out fer ‘im. Dunno if ye really care about ‘im like ‘e says, but it’s tha results wot matter. So, thanks fer keepin’ ‘is sorry arse alive so far, Astarion.”

The elf’s lips parted, and his dark eyelids opened wider. “You… you remembered my name.” Up until now, the dwarf had never called him by his actual name.

A small grin could be seen spreading underneath the dwarf’s bushy mustache. “Never forgot it in tha first place, lad.”

“So, you’ve been calling me names like Ass and Frilly Rumplebottom just to piss me off this entire time?”

“More or less.”

“You fungus-smelling, bald-headed bastard.”

“Feck off. Yer head looks like a sheep’s arse after Tabby’s had a go at it, ye prissy blood-suckin’ cunt.”

Astarion quieted as the insult sank in, and then he threw his head back in uproarious laughter.

The duergar leaped onto the counter and clapped the vampire on the back. “Welcome ta tha family.”

Yes… Astarion supposed he was part of the family now, in a way, wasn’t he? At least, he might as well have been. He meant it when he said he would like to keep traveling with Elganon even when their adventure was over with.

Elganon’s cobbled-together family were the sort of low-class oddballs that Astarion wouldn’t be caught dead associating with publicly in his past life, but to their credit, they couldn’t be any worse than the Szarr family, and really, that was enough for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "In the land of Gods and Monsters, I was an angel living in the garden of evil. Screwed up, scared, doing anything that I needed."
> 
> Recommended Listening: Gods and Monsters by Jessica Lange


	3. A Hunger for Intimacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astarion believes he’s finally ready for his partner to take the lead.

Anxiety knotted Astarion’s gut as his lover loomed over his naked body, peering down at him fondly with those gentle bright green eyes. He and Elganon had made love many times before, in all sorts of daring places and in a creative variety of ways, yet nothing made Astarion more nervous than the prospect of the half-elf topping him.

It wasn’t Elganon’s fault, but something else entirely. A bad history with being the one in the more passive role, one could say. Astarion had this idea in his head that until the day he could finally let his lover take control without panicking or losing his sense of trust, he’d never overcome the past.

Elganon could see that the vampire had broken into a cold sweat and was clenching his fists while taking short and shallow breaths. “Are you sure you’re truly ready for this?”

“Y-Yes,” Astarion said in a hurry. “Yes, gods, please let’s get it over with.” That didn’t exactly instill confidence in the warlock, and realizing that, Astarion opened his eyes, wincing guiltily. “I’m sorry; I’m just nervous. What if I lash out at you again?”

His partner didn’t bother to entertain the concern, instead lowering himself to kiss the pale elf on the bed. Astarion needed that. He needed all of this.

“We’ll take this at _your_ pace, Astarion,” Elganon said when they parted, rubbing the vampire’s chest with his palm.

“Thank you. You’re so good to me, my dear,” mumbled the elf bittersweetly, averting his piercing scarlet eyes.

Elganon was being so patient with him. So patient and so tender. Completely unlike the first time Astarion took him. Astarion was impatient and only thought of his own desire; only wishing to have a good romp for the night, delighting in the thought of taking and tainting the half-elf’s innocence. 

If only he could go back and do it all over again… He would have been more caring for their first time together—Elganon’s first time with _anyone_ —exactly as his lover rightfully deserved.

Elganon continued petting at the man’s smooth chest, waiting for some signal that he was comfortable with proceeding. Astarion leaned in to initiate an open-mouthed kiss, praying that his lover didn’t see the fear that flashed in his eyes prior to their lips touching. 

He thought of the day they were laying together in the sand on the beach the nautiloid crashed on. Although that moment was a heated scuffle, in which Astarion thought the man to be a conspirator in his kidnapping by the mind flayers, there was a bizarre moment of intimacy as Astarion pulled the dagger away from Elganon’s neck and uncoupled from him hesitantly.

* * *

* * *

They needed to make love on the shore of a beach someday, Astarion thought idly. Finish what they could have started if they had met under better circumstances.

Elganon groped his hip tenderly, reaching around to grab the vampire’s firm backside, blunt fingernails digging into the skin pleasurably. Astarion felt his own cock rise as he sank into the kiss, the muscles of his arse squeezing tightly together. The warlock ground their hips together, making his own member stiffen. The friction elicited delicate moans from both men.

With his eyes closed, Astarion pretended to hear the waves of the ocean. In his fantasy, running water would try to lap at his bare feet, and he brought his legs up to Elganon’s thighs to protect them from the acid-burning sensation that it had on the skin of vampires such as himself.

In reality and in Astarion’s daydream, Elganon cupped the other cheek of his bottom, lifting him further up so that their groins were at equal level to each other. Elganon rolled so that he was on his back and Astarion was straddling him on top while they bucked their hips together.

Astarion was like putty in his arms, and never felt so content to be vulnerable.

_Protect me from the water. From the mind flayers. From my master. From everything._

_Always._

The elf gasped when his intimate thoughts received a reply, breaking the kiss with a tendril of saliva connecting their mouths, and having lost his train of thought on the fantasy. “Stop reading my thoughts like that.”

Elganon chuckled sweetly and smiled. “Take me back to the beach,” he murmured softly, running his hands up Astarion’s back to bring him into a gentle embrace in the midst of their impassioned thrusting. He laid his chin on the vampire’s shoulder, leaning his head into his lover’s neck and shutting his eyes. Apparently, he was capable of seeing the vivid imagery that Astarion painted mentally through their psychic link. The elf was happy to oblige.

In their minds, they were there on the shore again. It was dark out, and the moonlight glistened on the horizon beautifully. They both felt as if they were the only two creatures that existed on Faerûn in this reality.

Elganon placed Astarion on his back against their discarded clothing, which they had been laying upon for protection from the coarse sand. Smiling coyly, Elganon slipped between his partner’s legs and took his manhood deep into his mouth. His lips were so soft and his moist, hot mouth warmed the cold vampire. 

When he removed the phallus from his mouth, Elganon licked in a circular motion around the other man’s foreskin where the head was just barely exposed. As he slowly rolled back the flesh with a few gentle strokes of his hand, he teased the wet slit at the tip with his glistening tongue. Astarion’s erection quivered in his grasp. 

His balls were almost painfully full even from this small amount of teasing, as they hadn’t had much sex up until this point recently; the anticipation of this day had made the vampire’s normally high libido lower than normal, not to mention that in the few times they had made attempts lately, Astarion couldn’t maintain an erection for that reason.

Astarion bit into the back of his own index finger, whimpering as the tip of Elganon’s tongue caressed every inch of him, and he was quite the long fellow. He wanted to grab the warlock by the hair and start fucking his face senseless, but reminded himself that he wasn’t meant to take the lead this time; the whole purpose of this encounter was to relax and enjoy the pleasure that was given to him.

He was afraid that this would make him weak and uncomfortably helpless, but Elganon was practically worshipping his body, splaying his fingers out across his abdomen, coming back around and resting on his spread thighs. Astarion must have taught him well, since by the time his cock was being slowly pressed back into the half-elf’s tight mouth, his red eyes were rolling into the back of his head.

Soon, he felt lubricant-slick fingers slip inside of his hole while he was being sucked off—he’d given his lover plenty of access with his legs being so far apart now—and his breaths became irregular when the curious digits tickled against his prostate. 

Astarion held his arms above his head twisting his back as he was penetrated again and again, with more lubricant being added to his lover’s fingers every so often to coat him more thoroughly. The vampire almost wanted to try spreading himself open and have the entire vial of viscous liquid poured into him at this rate; the substance felt amazing, whatever it was that Elganon put into it. 

It was funny to think that the man who was a virgin when they first met concocted the best damn lubricant he’d ever used. It not only did its intended job, but it gave a warm and tingling sensation wherever it was applied.

“You’re so greedy,” Elganon said with a husky laugh when he released the cock from his mouth with a wet pop and laid beside Astarion on their clothing, continuing to dip his fingers in and out of his beloved and enjoying every gasp the vampire made. “I see it’s not just your mouth that has an insatiable lust.”

They went into a spooning position when Astarion lifted a leg up, which Elganon helped hold with his free arm so that his partner wouldn’t be too uncomfortable.

“M-More,” Astarion demanded with a wolfish smirk, glad to start making demands if he was going to be spoiled like this. Elganon added another lubricant-coated digit with the next thrust of his fingers, and his kindness was rewarded with a delighted, almost bestial groan as the vampire leaned his back into him.

Astarion reached down to stroke himself, then thought of Elganon’s poor untended manhood when it brushed, forgotten, against the back of his leg. He craned his neck to whisper to his lover, “I’m ready for you now, darling.”

When the fingers were removed from him, Astarion spun around to pin Elganon down, straddling him again as he lowered himself onto the erect cock beneath him. Once again remembering he should be letting Elganon guide him, he allowed his lover to control the rhythm.

Elganon clutched his hips firmly, bringing him up and down with slow and steady thrusts. Unpracticed, his member popped out once or twice, and Astarion had to help him reposition the tip so that it would go back in. It was kind of cute, seeing how flustered and embarrassed the warlock got over his lack of leadership experience in the bedroom. Astarion admired the fact that he was so eager to learn for the sake of making _him_ happy. How adorably selfless.

But after a time, Astarion’s hunger grew—not the vampiric kind (though he was starting to feel peckish) but the other kind—and he wanted his fill of his lover’s seed.

They always had plenty of time to do this again, now that Astarion was confident that he wanted to be taken like this more regularly.

Without warning, Astarion grabbed Elganon by the shoulders and bounced on his stiff cock as if his life depended on it. The trembling and rattling of the bed’s wooden frame brought their awareness back to reality.

Elganon wailed in ecstasy beneath him. He was too overwhelmed by Astarion’s forcefulness and preternatural speed to be of much use as the vampire practically used him as a fuck toy, not that Elganon minded in the slightest. He was possibly one of the few warlocks who actually enjoyed being used as a tool, perhaps a little _too_ much.

A sense of pride welled up in Astarion’s chest when he got what he wanted; warm ejaculate filled his yearning hole, and he tried to milk his beloved for every last drop. At least when it came to this hunger, he never had to worry about overfeeding. He hoped not, at least. Could a man die from climaxing too much in one session?

Well, there was only one way to find out, and surely the necromancers in Elganon's adoptive family could figure something out if it all went horribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Don't you wanna come with me? Don't you wanna feel my bones on your bones? It's only natural."
> 
> Recommended Listening: Bones by The Killers


	4. Tailor Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astarion was happy to be out of that frayed old suit, until he realized the true cost of happiness.

When you grew up in poverty in the Lower City of Baldur’s Gate, the idea of spending a great deal of money on a single outfit was foreign to you. Elganon, being one such unfortunate person, was mystified by what it would cost to hire the services of his elven lover Astarion’s preferred tailor, but he knew that the gesture would ultimately mean a lot to Astarion, who had been sulking for a while now about needing new clothes.

Sure, Elganon would be in debt to his adoptive duergar father, Orebos, for many months, working in his apothecary without pay to make up for the loan he’d been reluctantly granted, but it was worth it just to see the smile on Astarion’s face when the regal attire was finally complete after days of having it measured, refitted, and adjusted to the fussy elven noble’s specifications.

When Astarion came home to the tower Elganon and Orebos resided in—and ran the apothecary out of—the vampiric elf behaved much like a princess ready for a grand ball when he showed the new outfit off to his beloved half-elf partner. He did a graceful twirl to give Elganon the full view of his tailor’s handiwork. 

The outfit was mostly crimson with gold embroidery and black trim, while the white lace was even longer on this ensemble (to better cover up the bite scars in his neck from the day he’d been turned into a vampire) and had an elaborate pattern to it.

Elganon had to admit that the man looked so gorgeous, refined, and delicate that it took his breath away. The garb was still insanely expensive, but if it had the added benefit of making the half-elf’s heart flutter around his lover more than usual, thinking about all the unpaid labor he was going to have to do over the coming months wasn’t going to be so burdensome, after all.

Upon finishing his display, Astarion took Elganon’s hands into his own, holding them to his still heart. The long, dangling lace that draped over the elf’s wrists looked so majestic, although the half-elf hoped that it wouldn’t get in the way of him wielding a dagger; he assumed that Astarion might be switching back to the rapier as his primary weapon of choice to accommodate the new wardrobe. 

Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to pay for one of those, too. Elganon could only work for free for so long, and the larger his debt was, the more of a taskmaster his father was to him, constantly reminding him of what he owed whenever he was too exhausted to keep up with the pace at which he was expected to work.

“Thank you so much for doing this for me, darling. I _promise_ that you won’t regret it,” said Astarion, bending down to kiss the shorter man’s forehead.

Still entranced by the visage of his lover, Elganon blurted out, “I wish I could be as beautiful as you are, Astarion. You’re like a heavenly vision.” His pallid cheeks tinted scarlet at his own confession.

The high elf laughed. “What do you mean, my dear? Of course you’re beautiful.” He gingerly grasped Elganon’s chin in his palm while his lips curled into an affectionate smile. “Those pouty lips, those lovely eyes, that magnificent jawline…” When Astarion moved his thumb away from Elganon’s chin, he frowned slightly. “Mm… Your chin, however, I could take or leave, but… Other than that, you’re quite stunning yourself.”

Insecurity set in for the half-elf. He pulled away from Astarion to rub at his chin, feeling for anything out of the ordinary. “What’s wrong with my chin?”

“Oh, well, it’s not a big deal, really. I’m just not crazy about the little cleft in it—it’s a tad asymmetrical, not to mention that it tends to be the oiliest part of your face. No offense,” Astarion explained, trying his best to downplay the fault, but only doing more to make his lover feel ugly.

Astarion’s brow knitted worriedly when Elganon made that dejected face that meant he was going to start bawling his eyes out at any moment. He waved his hands for the half-elf to stop, but it was already too late. “As I said, it’s nothing major! I hardly ever think about it! Most of the time…”

Elganon turned his back on him and began weeping into his hands in total heartbreak. How could Astarion say something so mean, when he always did such nice and selfless things for his partner?

Wringing his hands and clenching his fangs, Astarion danced over to the front of his beloved, as if literally walking on eggshells, and grasped him by the shoulders. “Oh, my dearest heart, please don’t cry. You’ll forgive me for being such a brute, won’t you?”

Either Elganon didn’t hear him over his own sobs, or that was a no. Regardless, Astarion sighed and hugged him to his chest, patting him on the back until he calmed down and the crying became mere sniffles.

It was difficult, dealing with Elganon’s sensitive heart, but on the other hand, Astarion’s callous opinions were hardly any better and could also use some improvement. Unfortunately, both men were fairly set in their ways, and the best they could do as a compromise was to do what they could to cope with each other’s more frustrating tendencies and habits.

“If it makes you feel any better, darling, my love for you is not based on how perfect or not your chin is,” said Astarion as he removed Elganon’s hands from his face to dry his eyes with the handkerchief he took from his breast pocket. 

Though the tailor had suggested the lace handkerchief be white to match the other frills, Astarion had made sure that it would be black because he knew he would be using it to console Elganon more often than not, and a white one would quickly become permanently stained by the black eyeliner and mascara that his partner insisted upon wearing, even though it never took long for it to start running down his face after the first cry of the day had come on.

“There, there,” Astarion cooed before tucking the cloth back into his pocket. “Why don’t we go out for a night on the town? I think we could both stand to clear our heads with a bit of fresh air. What do you say?”

With slumped shoulders, Elganon craned his head to examine himself in the mirror. Even now, he wasn’t used to the fact that Astarion’s reflection didn’t appear next to him as it should have, but he didn’t need to see Astarion there to know that standing beside him, Elganon had the appearance of a pauper in his ragged adventuring attire, which at one point he took great pride in as being the fanciest outfit he owned in his entire life. Now it was no better than the other rags in his battered wardrobe that stood at the other end of his cramped bedroom. He’d never been so ashamed to be poor.

“Not tonight,” Elganon mumbled sadly. “I’m not feeling up for it. Maybe tomorrow, but you can go on without me; I know you still need to feed for the night. I might just take a nap. It’s been a long day.”

Astarion frowned. “Are you sure?”

Elganon’s head nodded slowly, made even more mopey looking when his tangled hair got in his face and stuck to it. While Astarion’s hair was very light in color and full of volume, Elganon’s own hair was black as pitch, stringier, and sadder. If Astarion’s cold dead heart still held a pulse, it might have broken at the sight of such a pitiful creature. He only wished that his beloved would tell him what was truly wrong.

“I was going to take you by the park, but… Very well, I will let you catch your rest, then.” Astarion hoped that the mention of the park, and thus implying the potential of encountering animals that Elganon could talk to (a magical ability granted by the demonic pact that the half-elf had made as a young man, apparently) might change the man’s mind about rejecting his offer, but nothing in Elganon’s body language changed.

Astarion gave him another kiss, this time on the cheek, then hesitantly shuffled out of the room, pausing halfway to the door and again at its archway to give Elganon ample time to state that he wanted to come with, but that moment never came.

“Sweet dreams, my love,” said Astarion as he closed the bedroom door on the way out. He frowned deeply to himself as he made his way down the spiral staircase of the tower, clinging to the metal handrail tightly. It used to never bother him before when he upset someone—in fact, he usually took great delight in outraging others, but when someone whom he’d truly loved was hurt by his thoughtlessness, he felt wrong about it.

* * *

It wasn’t until dawn that Astarion had returned. He’d lost track of time because the hands of his favored gold pocket watch had gotten locked up again. He’d have to take it to the watchmaker the next time he went to the Upper City again, and would have to hope that his good word and high social standing would be enough to convince the watchmaker to allow him to pay for the repair in small increments. His tailor knew better than to trust such a promise from him, but he had yet to burn that bridge with the watchmaker.

As Astarion swung open the door to his and his partner’s shared bedroom, it became apparent that Elganon hadn’t actually slept a wink since he’d left. He was at his desk, fumbling with a needle and some thread. Astarion quietly walked up behind him to peer over his shoulder at the project he was working on, only to see that the half-elf was attempting to make his adventurer’s leathers appear more fanciful than they really were. Sadly, he was doing a poor job of it, as he wasn’t particularly good at tailoring. 

Skilled to a modest degree in medicine and necromancy, Elganon could put stitches into flesh, but it didn’t translate as well as he thought it would to crafting lavish embroidery. Such a thing was a lot harder than it seemed, and now both men were staring down disappointedly at patches of crooked filigree and mismatched leather patches.

“Going for a new look?” Astarion asked, forcing a smile when Elganon turned his head upon noticing his presence in the room. Gods, if the outfit wasn’t hideous before, it was utterly ruined now. Despite the internal pain that it caused him to tone down the horror of such an atrocity against fashion, the vampire was trying especially hard to be polite, so that Elganon wouldn’t cry again.

Before Elganon even answered, Astarion was already busying himself in his head with potential ideas of how to make the tragic costume “mysteriously disappear”. Elganon already inadvertently _behaved_ like a jester in the eyes of most people he encountered in his daily life with his clumsy, awkward, and odd mannerisms. He didn’t need to appear like one as well. Though Astarion admittedly loved watching his partner accidentally make a fool of himself in public, in some cases he had to protect the poor half-elf from marring his dignity (if he had any at all) to degrees that went beyond the pale, even for Astarion. Generally, when it made Astarion look foolish by association.

Astarion didn’t even need to tell the warlock that it was awful for him to know his true feelings about his handiwork. “It’s bad, isn’t it?” Elganon said with a grimace.

The vampire folded his hands behind his back and leaned further downward, as if getting a closer view would make it appear any less terrible, rather than doing exactly the opposite. “No, noooo… It has a certain…charm.” 

But Astarion was baring his fangs and wincing far too much to be convincing with his blatant lie. With a heavy sigh, he confessed, “It’s positively _dreadful_ , and I _beg of you_ never to wear it in public, for my sake. I’d simply _die_.”

At that, Elganon picked up his dagger that laid at the corner of his desk and began picking at the messy embroidery with the sharp tip, ripping out several hours-worth of stitching, but the damage caused by his adjustments were irreversible at his mediocre skill level. Unlike live flesh, the leather’s wounds from all the needle pricks wouldn’t heal on their own, and unlike most dead flesh he worked with, it was actually going to be seen in the public eye. Realizing this, he gave up and set the dagger back down with a defeated sigh.

Curling his fingers into a fist against the surface of his workstation, Elganon mumbled, “I’ll just wear something else from my wardrobe. It was stupid to even try.” Tears pricked at the warlock’s eyes that were already reddened by exhaustion.

Astarion massaged his partner’s shoulder, tsking at the melodrama. “It’s not the end of the world. We’ve been through worse than a ruined set of clothes; you’ll survive.”

“It’s not about the clothes, it’s—” Elganon rested his forehead in his palm, running his fingers through his black hair and gripping it at the root. The mild pain dammed the flow of tears, for the time being. “Whenever we’re in the Upper City, I notice that you walk in front of me instead of beside me.”

Turning in his chair, he regarded Astarion grimly, as if awaiting a confession, but the vampire’s eyes immediately darted away, flinching from the accusation. Though he knew he didn’t have to, Elganon went on to elaborate. “Exactly as the lords and ladies do when they’re being accompanied by their servants…”

Astarion didn’t think he’d ever catch on to that. He allowed himself to become too comfortable with the notion that Elganon was naïve and too far gone in his own little world to notice the reality of things as they really were. He wondered what else his lover picked up on and kept silent about all this time, brewing on bitterly without ever saying a word.

He didn’t know why he bothered to try making up an excuse for his behavior, but such things came second nature to the lordly monster; the lies were tumbling out of his mouth before he was even aware of it. “It’s to avoid drawing unnecessary attention to our private affairs, dear. People in the Upper City are very judgmental and nosey, and—”

“Just like you are?” Elganon’s hand squeezed at the back of his chair, lips tightening to steel his shaking nerves. Hot tears were beading down his face and his breath trembled as it left his quivering nostrils. 

This confrontation was a long time coming, and deep down, Astarion knew it. Very early on into their travels together, they had a conversation about strife bringing out the beast in everyone. Astarion couldn’t help but think of Elganon himself when he’d said the words: “Back any beast into a corner and you’ll quickly see its teeth.”

* * *

* * *

But now that they were being bared at him, the vampire regretted being so eager to see the half-elf at his tipping point. Elganon’s current mood was like a quiet storm—as when one saw a crackle of lightning appear in the sky, but the “boom” wouldn’t come until much later and would be very unexpected. In the fleeting moments that Astarion felt the presence of Elganon’s demon patron, the unseen creature’s aura was identical. It was there, but you almost wouldn’t know it. It had things on its mind, but it didn’t want to discuss them with _you_.

Elganon usually got eerily quiet like this when he was having a discussion with the demon, leaving Astarion to worry if that was the case right now. If so, what were they saying?

The half-elf’s eyes rolled into the back of his head with a spasm, but soon returned to normal. He _was_ communing with the demon. Fantastic.

Elganon’s jaw shifted, then his neck popped when his head was tilted at an awkward angle, as if he’d left his body for a moment there, and finally he was seemingly calm again. Slightly irritable, but more relaxed, albeit by force. “I just wish you weren’t so ashamed to be with me, is all. I know I’m not the most socially graceful person out there, but—” 

Unable to face his lover anymore, the warlock faced forward and hunched over his desk again, going back to picking at the stitchwork with his dagger as a form of stress-relief, if nothing else. “I love you very much, and it hurts to know that I can’t always trust you to be at my side. You asked me once why I put so much stock in my patron; it’s because he’s always there for me—no matter what. I can confide anything in him, and he won’t judge. Why can’t you be as reliable? I’m always there for you, even when you make me angry.”

Elganon was now sulking like a grounded teenager as he twirled the handle of the dagger idly while stabbing into a particularly thick row of stitching.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Astarion pleaded defensively. His hands were shrugged away when he tried putting them on Elganon’s shoulders again.

“Because it’s obvious! You _know_ you’re doing it, and you do it anyway.”

Astarion nursed at his oncoming headache by stroking his temples with his fingertips. “I thought you wanted our relationship to be kept private.”

“Well, I changed my mind. It’s hardly a secret anymore, anyway,” Elganon huffed.

What a brat he was being! Astarion’s own attitude must have been rubbing off on him, after all. The vampire would have found it charming if he weren’t so annoyed with the warlock then.

“I didn’t mean to get so snippy,” Elganon admitted shamefully. He rubbed one of his tired eyes with his fist, and when his hand dropped back down, his smudged eye makeup was now a dark black circle that made his eyelid appear bruised when he looked back at his lover. Astarion could hardly have him going around looking like that. “I think I need to get some rest. That’ll clear my head.”

“Good thinking, darling.” Astarion ruffled his lover’s dark hair affectionately. “But first, let me clean your face.”

Elganon always had mixed emotions about being babied. “I’m not a child, you know,” he said testily.

Astarion laughed. “Oh, come now, we both know that you enjoy it when I fuss over you.”

The half-elf inflated one of his cheeks with air as he mulled it over in his mind, possibly consulting his demon about the matter. He exhaled and closed his eyes once he finally came to a decision, then held his hand out for the vampire to take, showing that he was conceding to the request.

Astarion would then lead him to sit on the bed while he fetched the washbasin. He never thought he’d enjoy pampering somebody else as much as he came to with Elganon. Normally, he wanted to be the recipient of attention and adoration.

Moments into cleaning Elganon’s face, Astarion nearly spilled the bowl of water that was sitting in his lap when something dawned on him: Cazador, Astarion’s vampire sire, used to be this way with him, once. But now Astarion was playing out the role of the doting patriarch.

Elganon touched his arm to stir him from his troubled thoughts upon noticing that he’d frozen in what looked like abject terror. “Is everything alright?”

The vampire wheezed out a breath to calm himself and forced a smile before returning to dabbing at his beloved’s soft face with the wet cloth. “It’s nothing, dear. I could probably use a bit of rest myself.”

Astarion wasn’t going to turn into his sire. _He wasn’t_.

* * *

When Astarion found himself strolling through the Upper City the following evening, he couldn’t shake the guilt his conversation with Elganon had left him with. It was made worse from knowing that while he was out enjoying the night, Elganon was stuck picking nightshade and other reagents from a graveyard somewhere on the outskirts of the city as part of the chores he owed to his adoptive father, all for the luxurious outfit the vampire wore. Elganon was probably miserable and would come home with cuts and blisters all over his hands; even when he wore gloves, he still managed to injure himself during every harvest when he came upon something that had brambles.

Astarion knew the arrangement wasn’t fair when he begged for Elganon’s help in getting a new suit tailored for him, but he didn’t care at the time. It wasn’t as if he could return the outfit for a refund, and honestly, he didn’t want to, nor would if he could have. Although, he was contemplating a way to make things up to his lover. 

At the very least, he ought to prove that he _did_ care, and that his own wants weren’t the only priority in their relationship. That might have been the case when they first became an item, but Astarion since discovered that the warlock really was special to him. That certainly complicated Astarion’s life, but caring about somebody else did have its own rewards.

He almost gagged. Did he honestly just think that? If Astarion’s past self knew how soft he’d become, he’d have rammed a stake into his _own_ heart to spare himself the sickening sentimentality.

Was he going to open an orphanage next, or perhaps turn his life over to a temple of Lathander? Hells forbid.

It made him want to go drain the life from an innocent just to remind himself that he was an evil, self-serving bastard.

But Elganon forbade him from drinking the blood of innocents.

Why did he allow one man to wield such power over his actions? 

It made sense when it was his vampiric master pulling his strings; he was quite literally under Cazador’s total control. Realistically, Elganon couldn’t force him to do anything. 

Or rather, he _wouldn’t_. Astarion honestly didn’t know the full extent of what that demon of his was capable of, but he knew that Elganon didn’t have it in him to make Astarion do something against his will; he wanted Astarion to compromise on his own terms, and never once did Elganon threaten him if he was being stubborn.

_It’s because you really do love him,_ Astarion reminded himself wearily. _And one of these days, it’s going to come back to bite you._

Astarion paused just as he was about to pass the entrance to the watchmaker’s shop. The place was still open at this hour. He might as well drop in and see what the craftsman could do for his poor centuries-old watch.

Come to think of it, it was an antique, wasn’t it? Astarion easily forgot that his belongings that he’d held onto for quite some time as the years flew by accumulated in value in the case of some possessions. Might the watchmaker be interested in purchasing it, and if so, for how much gold?

No, he wouldn’t even _dream_ of selling it. He had this watch for almost two hundred years now, and he loved it. It—… It was a gift from Cazador. That alone _should_ make him want to be rid of it, but as many times as he considered throwing the damned thing into a lake—or a river, since the running water that would burn his flesh would be more of a deterrent, should he think of diving in after it—, he insisted on keeping it.

He told himself that it was because the craftsmanship was so fine and he needed something to tell time with, but the truth was that he loved Cazador once. This watch was a reminder—a hope—that Cazador once loved him, too. Getting rid of this watch would mean letting go of that hope, and in spite of all his bitter hatred towards the man, the finality of letting go of the past was too frightening to face. He wasn’t sure he was ready for that.

_It hurts to know that I can’t always trust you to be at my side…_

Pulling the broken gold watch out of his pocket, Astarion clutched it in his hand tightly and traced its intricately detailed engravings with his thumb, then stepped inside of the shop.

* * *

Elganon couldn’t help but cry when he saw himself in the finished gold-and-cream-colored suit. He didn’t believe it was really himself in the mirror at first; he was like a totally different person. 

The matching shoes that were cobbled to go with the new outfit really tied the look together, and it was all more comfortable than anything he’d ever worn before, which he didn’t expect since he got the impression that it was going to be very stuffy and stiff when he was being fitted for it.

It had significantly less lace and frills compared to Astarion’s new attire, but that was for the best, since Elganon couldn’t entirely be trusted to mind open flames.

The giddy half-elf ran to Astarion and leaped into his arms, hugging him tightly. “It’s beautiful! I love it! But how did you get the money to pay for this and the debt I owed Orebos?”

“Nothing illicit, for once, I promise,” Astarion answered vaguely with a chuckle. “Don’t worry yourself about it, my love. You’re a proper dandy now, and it would be unfashionable of you to let that pretty face of yours wrinkle with concern.” He twirled his partner in a circle by the arm, making Elganon laugh joyously. “You look _gorgeous_. Absolutely _gorgeous_ , darling.

Astarion hadn’t considered it before, but now that he was really scrutinizing the suit, he recognized that the specifications he gave the tailor for how the embroidery should look ended up giving it an oddly familiar appearance.

It was _exactly_ like the etchings in the golden pocket watch.

Although Elganon couldn’t fit into his pocket, tell him the time of day if his life depended on it, nor fetch him as hefty of a price if, for some ungodly reason, he had the urge to try to sell the poor man, Astarion would much rather have him at his side always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "This is the first day of my life. Swear I was born right in the doorway. I went out in the rain, suddenly everything changed. They're spreading blankets on the beach."
> 
> Recommended Listening: First Day of My Life by Bright Eyes


	5. Flowers for Elganon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes a rose is just a rose, except for when it's not.

Astarion wasn’t entirely thrilled to be staying the evening in a druid grove currently inhabited by the squalor of a pack of tiefling refugees, but he and his party had barely endured a goblin attack on the gates to this little sanctuary in their search for a cure for their Illithid tadpole problem. It wouldn’t kill him to spend a single night in this place, but he was still going to do plenty of complaining about it to anyone who would listen to his moaning.

His new traveling companion that he’d taken a fancy to, Elganon the half-elven warlock, seemed to revel in commiseration, so that was probably his best bet for an ear to bend. Besides, Elganon was their de facto leader for his talent in navigating the wild; perhaps he could actually do something about Astarion’s woes. He might be able to find some safe path that would allow them to leave earlier than expected without worry of being attacked on the road by the lingering goblin threat. One could only hope.

Appearing more authoritative than Astarion had ever seen him thus far—it must have been a front to instill some confidence from their group in his leadership skills because his timid eyes screamed insecurity—Elganon puffed out his chest and rested his fists on his hips as he peered into the distance, observing the refugees in the camp.

“I think I’d better go speak with one of the residents to help us get our bearings,” he said, trying very hard not to slip a stutter in.

“That _would_ be a good place to start,” said Astarion, smiling in relief. Maybe he was more capable than the vampire had given him credit for in the beginning of their journey.

But the relaxed smirk became a perplexed frown when he watched the half-elf walk right past a tiefling farmer and started talking _to his oxen_.

“Are we entirely sure that he’s sane?” asked Gale, their party’s wizard.

“No, but sometimes you just have to make do, I suppose,” said Shadowheart, their cleric of Shar, with a sigh. “At least he hasn’t gotten us _lost_ so far.”

“So far,” repeated the wizard.

Shadowheart’s grimace intensified. “Indeed.”

To the group’s surprise, Elganon came back in a hurry clutching something in his palm, and then glanced over his shoulders conspicuously when he returned to them. “I hope you’ll keep your judgments to yourself, but here—we’ll probably need this at some point down the road in our travels…”

Into each of their hands, he deposited a little bit of gold split evenly, frequently peering around to ensure they weren’t being watched by the tieflings. Though Gale was the only one particularly disturbed, he hastily pocketed his gold all the same as the other two did.

Astarion quirked a brow at the half-elf, both shocked and amused that it was blatantly obvious the gold had been obtained by illicit means. “Where did you get this?”

Elganon’s eyes darted to the ground, and he wrung his delicate hands. “O-One of the oxen told me where they’d been hiding some of their valuables…”

The vampire’s scarlet eyes shot open at this revelation. “Turning your back on the needy to save your own skin, and now _stealing_ from them to cater to your own needs as well? My, you’re a man after my own heart!”

The warlock clearly wasn’t proud of what he’d done, but he didn’t deny Astarion’s allegation, either. “If you had my upbringing, you’d understand. You can’t easily steal from the rich; they have power. More often than not, when you’re in a bind, you have to take from the other people who are just as powerless as you are. Beggars can’t be choosers.”

Astarion clapped him on the shoulder. “Well said, my entrepreneurial friend! Shall we get going?”

Elganon nodded sheepishly and lead the way, doing his best to ignore the appalled look that Gale was giving him. Shadowheart, on the other hand, seemed very pleased.

“Keep this up,” the cleric said. “I like you better this way—it’s preferential to your simpering cowardice.”

“Just please don’t spend all the gold in one place,” Elganon mumbled shamefully.

The party ended up staying the rest of the night at the grove, unfortunately not getting the opportunity to slip away since a couple of goblin patrols were lurking outside the gate, hoping to find antsy caravan deserters or fools looking for a nighttime stroll in the wilderness. They did manage to recruit the living legend known as Wyll, the Blade of Frontiers to their adventuring group, although he may end up disappointed when he became familiar with their leader’s astounding lack of heroism.

They could only hope that the githyanki warrior they picked up prior to heading for the druid grove was doing a good job of watching their remote campsite, where she’d been asked to stay for the time being to avoid unnecessary confrontation with the skittish tieflings or the stern druids. Whether or not she could hold up against goblins or bandits on her own wasn’t a concern—it was whether or not the very capable warrior had the patience to wait for their return without deciding to go solo.

Astarion would have had a _fit_ if she did so, and as a result ended up being the only one of their group to find a way to have her mind flayer parasite removed before it was too late. That would be his luck, wouldn’t it?

To take his mind off his fears, once Elganon had turned in for bed for the night, leaving him with no one left to vent to, he decided to go for a walk. _Within_ the boundaries of the camp, mind you. He may have been a powerful creature of the night, but he wasn’t a demi-god, as much as he liked to fancy himself one internally. His vampiric biology might not know the difference between an arrow to the heart and a full-blown stake. He didn’t want to become the case study for the bestiary records.

There sadly weren’t many wild animals out here, for a druid grove. None that he could feed from, at any rate. Elganon explicitly told him _not_ to take a bite out of anyone’s pets, whether they belong to the tieflings or be the animal friend of a druid. And, on that note, to take _extreme_ caution not to end up trying to feed from a shapeshifted druid, which was easier said than done; they could become literally anything, and since Astarion lacked Elganon’s uncanny ability to talk to animals—a gift from his demonic patron—it’d be hard to discern which was which if the druid in particular was the stoic type, which many were.

In the end, Astarion found himself taking his chances on a large white rat he saw scampering around woundedly. It must not have been a druid after all, because it barely put up a fight—it managed to get a good nip in at his finger, but that was all—and died just as easily as any other animal he fed from.

When he looked down at the gory mess of what was left of the white rat that lay limp in his palms, he felt a twinge of guilt. Elganon really liked animals, he noticed. What if he’d spoken with this very one earlier, and took a particular liking to it? Perhaps he should have gone to wake up the half-elf to ask first.

Ah, well, it was too late now. The best he could do was deposit the fresh corpse into a nearby bush that was growing around a broken fence post, so that no one would see the unusual bite marks in the animal’s hide.

The flowers growing out of said bush were actually quite lovely and vibrant in color. They must have been the unusual type of flower to bloom at nighttime. Astarion decided that, while he was there, he may as well take a few of them. Like all mortal things, they wouldn’t live long compared to Astarion’s unnatural lifespan, but he would enjoy their beauty while it lasted. He’d already begun weaving the stems together on the way back to his bedroll, not that he’d be doing much sleeping in it.

When he laid his back against the leathers, Astarion hummed thoughtfully as he admired the soft flower petals. He almost jumped when an unexpected voice broke his concentration.

“Are those for me?”

Rolling on his side, he saw that Elganon had awoken from the bedroll next to him. The sleepy warlock was rubbing his eyes, smudging his mascara carelessly, since he couldn’t do much more damage to the already tear-ruined eye makeup.

* * *

* * *

For a moment, Astarion wondered where in the world he got the idea that the flowers were for him, until he remembered making an offhanded joke about “not having any flowers or wine” to make up for attempting to murder the half-elf over a misunderstanding about Astarion’s kidnapping by the mind flayers. He didn’t think the warlock would take the jest seriously and expect those things to be given later. It was a little cute to think that he’d been waiting with bated breath this entire time.

With a playful smirk, Astarion shrugged his shoulders and said, “But of course. Just let me make the finishing touches.”

Pulling the stems into delicate knots, the vampire formed a crown out of the flowers, and leaned over to place it on the half-elf’s head. It actually didn’t look bad on him. In fact, it enhanced that innocent doe-eyed expression he often had. Though Astarion suspected he was far from pure—at least, he wasn’t entirely—he was certainly more angelic in appearance now.

Elganon smiled bashfully, entwining his own fingers together shyly before reaching up to carefully touch at the gentle and fragrant petals. With his acute dark vision, Astarion could see the man’s pallid cheeks turn pink with delight. It made something stir within the vampire’s frigid heart.

“Unfortunately, I still don’t have the wine, but I hope the flowers will do for now.” Astarion’s fangs showed when he smiled rather widely, hardly worried that the half-elf would fear the sight of them, since lots of creatures Elganon talked to had sharp teeth.

“Th-Thank you,” Elganon stammered breathlessly, in a manner that sent a chill down the predator’s spine.

Perhaps, while he was out hunting anyway, he ought to gather flowers more often for Elganon.

* * *

There came a day when getting flowers for Elganon was no longer a source of joy, but rather a bitter experience. Astarion did not pine for his beloved’s cheerful reaction whenever he’d unknowingly bring some rare specimen back to his lover after a good night’s hunt for sustenance because he would never see that smile again.

It took longer for Astarion to finish his task now. He idled in the forest, kicking up dirt and dwelling on painful thoughts as if stalling his arrival to his ultimate destination. His belly was full, but his heart could never be again.

After about another hour or so, Astarion finally brought himself to complete the journey to Elganon’s secluded grave and knelt before it to present his offering. He wished he could speak to the dead, as Elganon did in life, but since he couldn’t, their conversations were entirely one-way.

“I’ve been missing you again,” Astarion murmured, biting his own lip. “Not that I ever stop. It’s just that I’ve gotten better about suppressing it for at least a few hours every day,” he added with a forced chortle that made him nearly burst into tears.

“I never thought it would be this hard, you know? Going on without you. I thought that what we shared together might simply be a single chapter of my life that I would reflect upon fondly while going about the next adventure.” Astarion sighed with the weight of the world on his shoulders. “The life of a vampire wasn’t what I wanted for you. You knew that. It’s dreadful, really. It’s never a matter of _if_ you become a monster, it’s _when_. Comes naturally with immortal life.”

He always felt that he was explaining himself—explaining his reasoning—whenever he came to visit his dearly departed lover these days, but not to Elganon—to himself. Even now, he wasn’t sure that he made the right choice not to become a true vampire when he had the chance, which would have allowed him to grant Elganon the same “gift”. They could have had eternal life together. They weren’t _required_ by any natural law to start a coven, but… well, they _could have_. There were so many things they could have done that they’d now never have the chance to.

“Hah. It seems in poor taste that a necromancer wouldn’t have some backup plan for bringing themselves back to life after death. Either you, your father, or your uncle really should have done something in that regard,” Astarion tried to joke, but it fell flat and only served to make his bitter regret fester. “But now they’re dead, too, aren’t they?”

They all were. Everyone Astarion had met in their adventure were now gone. Long gone. It was just him now. Alone. And for what purpose? To wander Faerûn, drinking blood and gathering flowers for a skeleton under a pile of dirt for the rest of eternity?

He almost wanted to exhume the body of his beloved out of a sense of morbid curiosity and intense loneliness, but he couldn’t bring himself to face what remained underneath the soil, if there even was anything left inside of the casket after all these years. Elganon might have just been a pile of dust at this point.

“I’m sorry… I’m so, so sorry…”

Astarion covered his face, and wept an ugly, choked sob, but the only man he could ever confide in was laying dead beneath him and had no ears with which to hear his cries.

* * *

The vampire woke from his trance with a start, realizing that for the first time in an age, he had actually fallen asleep. At least, it _felt_ like sleep; he was dreaming and everything. He wasn’t even in a coffin—he was lying in bed next to Elganon, who was fast asleep and taking steady breaths.

He was alive. Thank the gods, regardless of whether they cared for Astarion or not, that he was still alive.

Without thinking, he yanked Elganon’s sleeping body into an overly enthusiastic embrace, startling the half-elf awake.

“Hnh? Astarion, what’s wrong? Why are you hugging me so tightly? I love you, too, but I’m trying to sleep!” the warlock mumbled, horribly confused about what brought this on out of nowhere. He held onto Astarion’s arms gently, hoping that the vampire’s grip would ease up once he calmed down.

Leaning forward, Astarion littered his lover’s bare chest with a series of affectionate kisses, then laid his head above the man’s beating heart as a firm reminder that Elganon was still among the living, making a contented sound. “Nothing, dear. Nothing at all. In fact, I’m feeling so energetic that I believe I’m going out for another walk while the night is still young. I forgot to get you your flowers.”

“It’s alright—you don’t have to do that. You don’t have to worry about me,” Elganon said with a tender, yet still very sleepy, smile. “Flowers are just flowers, after all.”

“They’re more than just that,” Astarion argued. “They’re a symbol of my eternal love for you.”

The beautiful flowers always wilted and died in the blink of an eye, but Elganon didn’t have to. Not if Astarion could help it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "...a free and gentle flower growing wild."
> 
> Recommended Listening: Wildflower by Skylark


	6. Night Terrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Elganon is feeling down, he always looks to his demon patron for advice.

Elganon made himself comfortable in the overstuffed high-backed chair at the tea table. It was very pleasant to sit in, but the size made him feel like a mere toddler—shorter than how most furniture did. The furniture in this strange otherworldly garden was made for giants, such as the one that sat across from him, yet still it all sat too low to the ground for Elganon’s gaunt and towering master, who had to slouch and draw his boney knees up to his chest while he was in his own identical chair.

The demon Murmyr, Lord of Wretches, was as surprisingly genial as his ethereally lovely realm. He had the face of a lamb with silly smiling teeth, and his wool was freshly shorn. If he hadn’t been wearing such a pretty fur coat, he would probably be freezing in the cool breeze that was always blowing through here. Elganon was a little saddened that the coat was made from animal fur, but it was hard to deny its gorgeous sheen. He always wondered what kind of animal it came from.

Murmyr’s four rail-thin arms got to work fixing them both a fresh cup of tea, moving with astounding speed and grace as he placed bags into tiny empty cups, filled them with hot water, and placed them on matching porcelain saucers with flowery designs around the rim.

Six bright orange-gold eyes with horizontal pupils peered down worriedly at Elganon when the massive creature regarded him again, and the demon’s three whip-like tails that ended in little puffs of fur waved about as he fretted over what ailed the poor little half-elf.

“I see you’re late again for our evening tea. What’s the matter, my precious little doll? Has something happened?” Murmyr asked in an echoing voice that had the tenderness of a concerned grandparent. He stirred a couple lumps of sugar into Elganon’s teacup and slid it across the table to his pact-bound servant.

Solemnly, Elganon lifted the cup by the handle and saw his own reflection in the beverage. A teardrop fell from his face and splashed into the tea, sending ripples all throughout the image. “He hurt my feelings…”

“Oh dear, not again,” said the demon with a hushed gasp. He lurched across the table to place a shriveled hand on the warlock’s shoulder. “What’s he done to break your heart so? Tell me all about your troubles, my sweet.”

Elganon leaned into the touch. He set his cup back down on the saucer and allowed his demonic master to pull him to his chest in a gentle hug. Despite Murmyr’s frail appearance, he lifted the half-elf’s entire body up with minimal effort in his spider-like arms. “He made me feel bad for being poor… He said my chin was ugly…”

Murmyr’s nostrils twitched in great offense. “You are perfect in every way, little doll. We should punish him, don’t you think?”

The warlock gasped and lifted his head from the demon’s chest, already missing the warmth and softness of the collar of the creature’s fur coat. “N-No, I’m not _that_ upset about it,” he assured as his eyes were dried by spindly alien fingers.

“You _really_ shouldn’t let others walk all over you, my precious one. They will squish your tender heart with nary a care, and what will you have left to show for it?” Murmyr made a crushing motion with one hand to make his point. “No, you should really teach him a lesson. Enough is enough.”

“I’m not going to _hurt_ him—I love Astarion, even if he can be inconsiderate at times,” Elganon responded, pleading with his master more so than telling.

The demon touched his plump pink lips to shush him. “I never said anything about _hurting_ him. Just a little scare. That’s all.” One arm retrieved Elganon’s cup, offering him a sip to calm his nerves now that the drink had cooled.

After a long, deep, and refreshing drink, Elganon opened his uncanny emerald eyes again with a flutter of black-painted eyelashes. “What did you have in mind, exactly?”

Though they were the only ones there, as far as Elganon knew, Murmyr covered his pale pointed ear and whispered the answer into it secretively. Elganon’s lips pulled into an uncertain frown as he meditated on the proposition with a few more sips of his tea.

“That seems a bit… cruel and manipulative. I’m not sure how I’d feel doing that to someone I love,” the half-elf confessed. He handed his emptied cup to the demon, who filled it back up right away.

“That’s an unfair way to look at it, my dear. You’re the victim here, and you’d only be collecting the respect you’re due. A little nightmare’s not going to kill him. It’ll simply give him a reminder that you won’t be around forever, and that he ought to cherish you while he has you.” Murmyr’s stirring spoon clinked against porcelain as the water in the cup was blackened by the crushed tea leaves.

Elganon watched, entranced, as tendrils of color writhed within the teacup, swallowing all clarity, and altering the nature of the liquid in a matter of seconds. “And you’re sure this will change his heart?”

Two more lumps of sugar were added to the beverage, and this time a bit of cream was poured along with the cubes. “There’s no guarantee, but if it doesn’t, then you’ll know where his loyalties lie.”

“There’s just one problem, master: He doesn’t sleep,” Elganon reminded him. His eyes were attracted to the sea of flowers that curled around the furniture and decorated the table. Ever since Astarion began bringing him flowers as presents, the ones that wilted and died seemed to end up here, where their lost beauty would live on. Elganon was thankful that his master would do him such a kindness by preserving for him these memoirs of his lover’s affections; it was always painful to have to throw many of them away, since he could only keep so many pressed flowers in his collection in the real world.

Murmyr tapped the spoon dry against the rim of the cup, then set the utensil aside on a clean cloth. “That’s no problem. Take him to bed with you, and once he’s had his…fill, allow the gifts I’ve given you to do the rest. Use your lethargic aura to make him want to just close his eyes for a little while. Then call upon his fears. He’ll be doing it to himself, really.”

When the cup was returned to him, Elganon didn’t accept it right away. “Thanks, Lord Murmyr,” he said finally, taking the offering into his palms and lifting the rim to his mouth. The tea was always so delicious here, even if it didn’t give him any sustenance in the real world. He gave his master a chipper smile now. “I’m glad I can always count on you to know what to do when I’m hurt and confused.”

An eerie chortle rattled in the demon lord’s throat. “Of course, my lugubrious prince.” He poked the tip of Elganon’s nose with a fingertip, minding his long, darkened nails. “Sweet dreams.”

Elganon once again rested his head against the long fur of Murmyr’s coat, humming as it tickled his face. “Goodnight, master.”

* * *

* * *

The warlock’s eyes rolled from the back of his head, facing forward and alert to reality again. He got up from the tiny table in his bedroom and began to undress himself in front of the mirror. Any moment now, Astarion would be back from his nightly hunt for blood to nourish himself with, so he wanted to make himself enticing.

He dug around in a drawer where he kept spares of the special oil he made for the nocturnal “fun” he and Astarion frequently got up to, and applied it to his bare body, shivering as the unique mixture warmed his skin. He never did have the heart to tell Astarion what it was made of, in the fear that he’d be repulsed and never want to use it again. What mattered, as far as Elganon was concerned, was that it felt amazing. 

Who cared if it had a few squished eyeballs utilized as the base? It’s not as if the previous owners were using them anymore, anyway, and Elganon only used the eyes of the _fresh_ corpses. To be hygienic, you see. The warlock was nothing if not sensible.

Elganon was sprawled out on the bed long before the bedroom door creaked open, laying with his back arched seductively. His face was hot over how prone he felt in this position, but even as his heart hammered in his chest, he resisted the instinct to cover himself up with the blankets. Astarion gaped at the visual he was greeted with in awe, his sharp fangs poking out from his open mouth.

“Mmm, _darling_ …! If I knew I had you waiting here all spread out for me like an evening’s dinner, I might have run home sooner for a nibble of _you_ instead.” Astarion shut the door behind him and strode forward with swaying hips, bending over his lover’s naked body to lay a hand on his thigh. “It would have saved me a lot of trouble. The guards must be actually doing their job these days, because I was nearly about to give up hope on finding a miscreant to snack on tonight. I may have to break my promise about keeping away from the necks of the innocent, if this becomes a trend.”

Elganon’s hips rolled eagerly at the sensation of the elf’s palm being so close to his genitals. He wished the vampire would move his hand a little higher up. “Astarion, we can’t just have you biting innocent people. It’ll draw too much attention. Knowing you, you’d go for some noble’s virgin daughter or something, and then we’d _really_ be in deep water.”

Astarion knitted his brow quizzically. “And… there’s the element of an innocent person being harmed, correct? I take it that’s also a problem?”

Startlement crossed the half-elf’s expression. “W-Well, I thought that went without saying, obviously.” His slender shoulders shifted, as if the bed were suddenly significantly less comfortable than it was moments ago.

A slight grin crept up on Astarion’s lips. Perhaps Elganon wasn’t the bleeding heart he took him for, after all.

The warlock frowned at the look and squeezed the sheets beneath him. “So, are we going to make love, or are you too tired? If you’d rather rest—”

“No, no!” Astarion replied, hurriedly unbuttoning his doublet, and fumbling with the fastenings in his haste. “Don’t be so _impatient_ with me, my dear. At _least_ give me time to get undressed!” He chuckled at Elganon’s sass, finding it to be charming.

Satisfied with the answer, Elganon relaxed against the bed, stroking his limp length while he watched his partner strip down. With Astarion’s back turned to him, he could see the ominous Infernal tattoo that was written upon the elf’s sallow musculature. As it was a symbol of Astarion’s unwilling servitude to the vampire lord Cazador, Elganon would like to see the thing gone, and possibly even replaced with the mark of his own master.

How nice it would be if Astarion could join him at Murmyr’s table; he felt so guilty that it was the one place the vampire still couldn’t enter without an invitation, and no amount of lockpicking skill would alter that, since there was only one way he knew of to enter his master’s domain at will, albeit in spirit alone: Agreeing to the eternal pact.

But Elganon knew that there was no way Astarion would trade one master for another. He tried in the past to convince Astarion of Murmyr’s boundless compassion and mercy, but the vampire would hear none of it.

_A demon is a demon_ , he said. _And they’ll always take more than you’re willing to give. I still don’t understand why you’d ever agree to serve one willingly._

Elganon never really felt like he was giving much. In fact, he always felt that he was taking more than he was giving to his master. Murmyr asked for little under the terms of their pact—only that Elganon confide _everything_ in him and encourage the people around him to whisper in his ear about their problems. It was a kindness, really. Elganon was helping them come to terms with their inner turmoil, all by being someone who would listen. He didn’t always care, but he would listen, nevertheless.

He wouldn’t admit it to anyone other than his master, but Elganon got a bizarre euphoria from all the grief that surrounded him, whether it came from within himself, or from the sorrow and frustration of others. It should be wrong to take such pleasure in agony, but it felt right.

Once Astarion was fully disrobed, he climbed on top of Elganon and pressed their naked bodies together, moaning as the oil coating his lover touched his skin and brought about a delicate heat. He was further excited when Elganon, with his hand still wrapped around his own erection, unfurled his fingers to make room for Astarion’s cock as well, stroking them in unison.

“Elganon,” the elf gasped, trembling as his member was especially slickened by the heavy coating of viscous oil. “Taking the initiative, I see,” he mentioned with a giggle. At that, the warlock tilted his head to the side against the pillow with a soft smirk of endearment and used his free hand to tease Astarion’s hardening nipple on his left side. “Mmh!”

The vampire was panting by the time Elganon took the pert pink bud between his lips, suckling and teething on it playfully before moving to its neighboring twin to give it attention as well while going back to stroking the left one with his fingers. Astarion couldn’t take the teasing anymore; he parted his lover’s legs wide, slipping his cock away from his grip, and penetrated the half-elf deeply with his tight manhood, causing the warlock to cry out.

As Elganon’s hot breath assailed his neck, Astarion was enticed to plunge his teeth into the half-elf’s own neck, cradling Elganon’s jaw in his palm as he drank the warm fluid that flowed through his veins. So bitter. So sweet. The slow pulse of the warlock’s heart thrumming in the roots of his fangs lulled Astarion into a sense of security, relaxing him.

Though he started out his lovemaking by bucking into Elganon like a wild horse, his pace was faltering. His lover's thighs clung to his hips to deepen the impact of each meticulous thrust, and his thoughts swam at the sound of Elganon moaning softly in his ear. Time felt sluggish, but it went by faster than he anticipated. His head was nodding by the time he reached his climax, and he couldn’t recall if Elganon finished along with him.

He didn’t remember drifting off, but after both of his hungers had been sated, everything just sort of went black.

Elganon was kind enough to tuck his lover underneath the covers and allow him to rest. It wasn’t going to be peaceful, so he may as well be as comfortable as possible before the nightmare set in.

He observed curiously and with a loving smile as Astarion slept and soon began to quiver under the covers. His predator’s teeth rattled together, and eventually he’d started to sob, staining the pillowcase with tears.

_There there_ , Elganon thought affectionately as he ran his fingers through the man’s platinum blonde—almost silver—hair that curled ever so adorably. _It’ll all be over soon…_

Laying back down, Elganon curled up behind his beloved underneath the covers, draping an arm around his chest. “I love you,” he muttered, brushing aside strands of wet hair to kiss Astarion’s forehead.

_Oh, how he loved his dear Astarion and his scarred, troubled soul. It was such sweet sorrow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You know I'll never disappear. Now get me out of here. Just trust in me, my dear. No cure is coming near."
> 
> Recommended Listening: Mr. Fear by SIAMÉS


	7. Why, Because It's Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After dabbling in a bit of necromancy with his lover's bizarre family, Astarion decides to go home with his partner afterwards to dabble in a bit of fun.

* * *

* * *

Astarion never imagined he’d take much of an interest in necromancy, until he got around to reading the unusual tome his lover Elganon’s adoptive uncle insisted on gifting him as a “welcoming gift”, now that Astarion had been accepted as an honorary member of their strange little found family. The contents of the book burned his eyes to read, and he was certain that it was bound in humanoid skin, but even so, it was quite the page turner. He couldn’t put it down once he began reading it, and now he apparently knew a bit of necromancy himself, with the knowledge of the glyphs still burning in his mind. It was hard to know what to make of that.

He wasn’t surprised in the slightest when he was called upon to participate in a necromancy ritual. Of course, there was a catch. One wasn’t gifted a Necronomicon for the sake of keeping it as something you left out on a table for guests to read in the sitting room, although Astarion would definitely consider that one day, should he and his partner move to a manor. Astarion dearly missed the comfort of his lavish former home in the Upper City of Baldur’s Gate, and living with Elganon’s surly duergar surrogate father in his tower/apothecary in the Lower City was tiresome and drab. Not to mention, it was thoroughly beneath his station in life. He was a noble and a magistrate, not a lowly shop attendant.

When he and Elganon arrived at the uncle’s home in the Outer City, Astarion was surprised by how tidy it was. Not only that, but it wasn’t quite the folksy home of an impoverished person that he expected. Several pieces of the furniture were shockingly…decadent and must have been imported from elsewhere. If Elganon and his father Orebos were barely scraping by, how was it that their business partner could afford such niceties?

Elganon returned his keyring to the little pouch on his belt after relocking the door behind them. “Uncle Tabby’s probably still getting ready. Takes him forever to put his robes on. He won’t mind if we have a seat while we’re waiting.” He gestured over to the couch by the lit fireplace.

“As much as I hate to admit this—" Astarion strode over to the chair and had a closer look around as he lowered himself into the comfortable cushions. “—your uncle has good taste. In décor, at least. In terms of romance, well, there is a lot to be desired.” He frowned at the jeweled human skull lying on the end table beside the armrest he was leaning against.

Against his better judgment, since he had no idea where the skull had been, nor what the current owner did with it, Astarion picked it up to examine it curiously.

The skull’s jaw moved, and a rasping voice gasped from it as it awoke. “Listen, if you’re not going to give me a kiss with those pretty-boy lips of yours, I’d like to return to the table, please.”

Startled, Astarion tossed the skull across the room, and it bounced along the worn, once-beautiful rug until it eventually rolled to a halt.

“Ow!” it yelped. “Bastard elf! Didn’t have to go and do that!”

Elganon hurried to retrieve the skull from the floor and cradled it in his arms while checking for cracks in the bone.

“No offense to you, Elg,” said the skull. “You being half-elf, and all. Better half-elf than full-elf, I always say.” A gravely cough and a puff of dust emerged from the skull’s yellowed teeth.

The half-elf dusted off the old skull with a hand and blew on it. “Sorry, Thomas. Astarion didn’t know you were reanimated.” He went to place the skull back in its usual spot on the end table. “And don’t be so unfair about his elven heritage—there’s nothing wrong with elves.”

Astarion smiled, thankful that his partner was backing him up here.

“He was a magistrate here in the city. I think that’s the more likely reason for why he can be so mean,” Elganon explained, and suddenly Astarion’s smile wilted and his eyebrows became furrowed with offense.

“I beg your pardon!” snapped the elf, sulking.

Elganon cracked a small smirk at his lover and pecked him on the cheek. “It was just a joke.”

Astarion laid down on the couch and sighed up at the ceiling. He caught a glimpse of Elganon getting perturbed when his boots rested against the cushions, but Astarion was sure he’d get over it. It wasn’t as if his boots were dirty, and Elganon ought to know that considering that he was the one Astarion asked to polish his shoes earlier that day in the first place.

Caving to the vampire’s whims, Elganon joined him on the couch, leaning against his chest. He cupped Astarion’s jaw in his hands and brought him close for another kiss, on the mouth this time. “Can’t you behave for even a few moments?”

Astarion chuckled, kissing him back on the nose. “You’re one to talk.”

“I’m still here, you know,” grumbled Thomas the skull, and Astarion promptly turned the skull around so that his eye sockets faced the wall. “Hey!”

When the door to an adjacent room burst open, Elganon and Astarion quickly scrambled to part from one another, ending up on opposite sides of the couch and trying to seem innocent, as if they’d always been seated that way since their arrival. Astarion’s pose and demeanor was a lot more convincing than Elganon’s, since the latter jittered so much.

“I thought I heard someone come in!” said the voice of Elganon’s uncle. “Hope I didn’t keep y’all waitin’ long. These enchanted robes are a real pain in tha ass. There’s like a dozen parts ya gotta slip on an’ tie on, an’—” The rest of his ramble went through one ear and out the other for Astarion once he saw how the human was dressed.

The supposed backwater hick that Astarion had met in a graveyard, who was having intimate relations with a corpse at the time of the encounter, _was a red wizard of Thay_? Well, that explained everything, strangely enough. From the furniture to the…taboo inclinations.

Tabalecus, or rather “Uncle Tabby” (Astarion couldn't stand that he insisted he ought to call him that rather than his full name), recognized the dumbfounded expression on the vampire’s face and with a chortle said, “Eheheheh! Yep, I ain’t actually from ‘round these parts, as ya can tell, son.”

“But the accent—” Astarion sputtered, at a loss for words.

“Picked it up over time for the sake of maintaining a low profile. It’s a lot less conspicuous, don’t you think?” It was even more alarming to hear Tabalecus’ natural voice. It was eloquent and refined, and nothing close to the grating country bumpkin tone he typically put on that drove Astarion up a wall. Honestly, Astarion would rather he spoke like this all the time, at least in private. Was Astarion fawning a little over the man’s real voice? Maybe just a tad, and he loathed himself for it.

“It’s preferable to your ignorant old coot voice, that’s for certain,” admitted Astarion, getting up from his seat. “Well, you fooled me. So, what sort of ritual have you summoned Elganon and I for, exactly? I can’t imagine anything a red wizard of Thay couldn’t handle on their own, unless you intend to raise _all_ of the dead in Baldur’s Gate at once.”

Tabalecus smirked. “You flatter me.” He waved for Elganon to stand up as well, then coughed into his fist and returned to using the voice both men were, unfortunately, accustomed to. “C’mon, peaches, let’s get down ta tha cellar, an’ I’ll show y’all what yer in fer.”

Astarion rolled his bright red eyes and uttered an, “Ugh…” Elganon then took him by the hand, lacing their fingers together and giving him a smile as he led them down the stairway through the door the red wizard opened for them. 

As they delved deeper, the pungent scent of decay got more intense. Astarion’s fingers tightened around Elganon’s, not because the smell of death intimidated him (rather, it was just repulsive), but because it reminded him all too much of his days in servitude to Cazador. Briefly, he thought he might be in his castle again, but that was his paranoid mind playing tricks on him.

Elganon patted him on the forearm soothingly, and hugged Astarion’s arm close. With their bodies so near as they walked, he could easily whisper to his lover without Uncle Tabby, who was several steps behind them, overhearing their conversation. “You know,” the half-elf murmured. “—my uncle and Orebos may not be as powerful as they were in their adventuring days, but they might still be very useful allies for you to have. We can control the dead and the undead, after all. That could help in dealing with Cazador and his lot once and for all.”

Astarion laughed, surprised by the proposal. He touched one of Elganon’s forearms in turn, whispering back to him. “I’ve never known you to run into a fight _willingly_ , my love.”

“You’re family now, Astarion,” Elganon said, peering up at him earnestly. “I want to help you. I want you to be free. My family will help you, too. You’d never have to worry about Cazador or his minions again. Then we could be together—just us.”

_Forever_ , Elganon thought. He couldn’t think of anything he wanted more.

Astarion realized that as Elganon became more comfortable around him and began to trust him more as they grew closer together, he was seeing more of the real Elganon—the one that was kept hidden away from strangers. It seemed like only yesterday that the young half-elf wouldn’t even dare make eye-contact with him and could barely utter a few words directly to him, and now the same man was locking eyes with him with a strong sense of commitment and gripped his arm possessively. 

How much of that was Astarion’s influence, and how much of it had been laying underneath the surface this entire time, waiting to be revealed?

“I would like that very much, my dear,” Astarion confessed.

Although, he would be lying if he didn’t admit to himself that he desired his own freedom above all else. If Elganon and his family should, hypothetically, perish in the attempt, but it still resulted in Astarion gaining his freedom from Cazador…

Hopefully, he would never have to choose between the two.

Waiting downstairs was the duergar Orebos and the deep gnome Kahira, who claimed to be part goblin, although everyone figured she was either touched in the head or merely trying to escape the notion that deep gnomes were the most decent people the Underdark had to offer. On the stone table next to them was a massive flesh golem that Astarion could only guess was cobbled together from a variety of corpses this graverobbing family dug up recently. He still couldn’t believe that someone like Elganon had a strong enough stomach to participate in such grim activities, but appearances could be deceiving.

“’bout time ye showed up,” said the gray dwarf impatiently, then grinned at Elganon. “I’m supposin’ ye had tae drag Frilly Rumplebottom tae make ‘im come along, aye?”

Astarion _hated_ that nickname. It wasn’t _his_ fault that the dwarf didn’t have the good fashion sense that he did! Was it really so hard to just say “Astarion”, or even “elf”? Or better yet: “M’lord”?

“No, sorry we’re late. Astarion had to stop to grab a bite to eat,” Elganon replied, the pun slipping over his head, while Kahira snickered until Orebos swatted at her with a hand as if she were an annoying fly.

“Is the gnome also a necromancer?” asked Astarion, pointing at her as if she couldn’t speak for herself.

“Nah,” she answered, skipping around the table to get out of the way as Tabalecus and Orebos got into position. “I’m just here to watch you screw this up, Frilly.” Kahira grinned wickedly, showing off her darkened sharp teeth. 

She had taken to using the nickname to pester Astarion, too. This made him determined that one day, if he could find an opportunity that would allow him to get away with it, he’d drain every last drop of blood from the gnome and leave her in a gutter somewhere to be gnawed on by the city’s numerous rats. He never did think to ask if Elganon was particularly fond of her. Maybe his lover would be on board with this scheme himself. Astarion could only hope, anyway.

Elganon guided Astarion to where they needed to stand around the table, and as Tabalecus and Orebos lifted their hands up, beginning to chant while necrotic magic crackled across their fingertips, he whispered, “Just follow our lead. After reading that book of Uncle Tabby’s, it all comes naturally, really.”

The half-elf stretched his arms out and joined in on the chant. The powerful flow of magic between the three spellcasters made an unnatural gust in the stale air that made hair rise and clothing flap in the breeze. Their eyes glowed as they entered a trance that Astarion wasn’t sure he wanted to be a part of, but with Kahira goading him with her judgmental grin, he had to prove that he was capable enough to carry his own weight in the ritual. He was a high elf, after all, and there was a lot of pressure to be inherently good at magic. If he failed at this, he’d be an utter embarrassment, and he was already disgraced as a noble. He had to prove there was _some_ dignity left in him.

As soon as Astarion entered the trance, he felt a ringing in his ears. It wasn’t painful, but more like a soft hum that tuned him out of the mortal plane, sending him somewhere else on a spiritual level. Foggy teal magic enveloped his vision, and he was lost to the moment. Strangely, he felt as if he was standing in the middle of a bog, pulling something from the murky waters with all his might. It pulled back, threatening to drag him under, but he used all of his willpower to resist it. There were hands on his back, assisting him in this task. He normally wasn’t much of a team player, but under this circumstance, he was glad for the help. It was frightening being here, wherever “here” was. He certainly wasn’t in the dank cellar anymore.

After what felt like an eternity of tugging and tugging at the stubborn entity, it rose on its own accord, perhaps deeming him worthy somehow. Mud slid away from the creature’s hollow eyes, and soon the face of the flesh golem on the table was revealed underneath. It stood silently before him, looming like one of the tall surrounding trees within the bog, awaiting a command, but he didn’t know what to tell it. Could he command it to squash the deep gnome?

A gentle tap on his shoulder awakened him with a start. He very nearly smacked Elganon when he spun around on his heel to see what had touched him, but he relaxed the minute he saw the familiar face smiling at him.

“Well done!” his lover congratulated him with a clap on the shoulder. “Have you animated a flesh golem before?”

Astarion shook his head no. “Not to my knowledge, although I wasn’t always entirely…conscious of my own actions while under Cazador’s heel,” he confessed. Some nights in those past two centuries were a blur, he was sad to say.

“Well, I’m proud of you,” Elganon replied, his smile becoming even warmer as he stood on his toes to kiss Astarion’s cheek. “I knew you could do it.”

The vampire snaked his arm around Elganon’s lower back as they turned to observe their work. The flesh golem wasn’t pretty to look upon, but Astarion did feel his skin tickle with pride at the fact that he’d helped make something so giant and monstrous come to life. And to think he doubted his own spellcasting abilities!

Yes, he had the assistance of experts, but Astarion believed that there was no harm in giving himself a pat on the back. Things hadn’t been going his way for a very long time, so he needed the ego boost—one that was well-earned, rather than a completely hollow lie he fed himself.

“Should we give it a name?” he pondered idly, rocking on his heels.

“If it comes back in one piece, we might,” said Orebos with a snicker. “Found out Candulhallow’s smugglin’ tha corpses they got fer sale usin’ tha sewer tunnels. Gonna catch ‘em off guard with this beauty. Make their routes unsafe fer ‘em.”

Astarion sighed, shaking his head. “Must you _really_ invite more trouble from your business rival? They’ve already killed off two of your hired tower guards in the past tenday.”

Orebos exchanged glances with Tabalecus. Both men nodded at each other, and then the duergar said, “Feck tha Candulhallows—tha most shite family in all ‘o Baldur’s Gate.”

Astarion wasn’t so sure about that. In his years as part of the nobility, he met a lot of horrible families whose trees were better off uprooted and burned in a pyre. However, now that he was wrapped up in the drama Elganon’s family was involved with, he was starting to hate their rivals as well. It wasn’t even just the Candulhallows that proved to be a problem—there were several others, too. It just so happened that this was one of their most persistent antagonists, given that the two families had conflicts of interests.

“How are we going to sneak this thing into the sewers?” Astarion regretted asking because he already had a sense of the answer. “Don’t tell me we’ll be taking it down there ourselves.”

Tabalecus nodded. “Yep.”

Fantastic…

* * *

The flesh golem was a thing of magnificent and wonderous horror to behold when it was unleashed upon the city’s sewers. As soon as it caught a glimpse of the unaware Candulhallow lackeys, it let out a terrible cry and charged at them. The group scattered, but it managed to grab a tiefling by the legs, ripping her in half with an awful wet sound that ended the frightened tiefling’s shrieks for help. A dwarf was then caught by the head, and because he was in the midst of running away, his head was popped clean off his neck and tossed into the legs of a fleeing human man. He tripped and broke his neck on the stone walkway, writhing in a pool of blood that was flowing from his ear.

The chaos and violence utterly _thrilled_ Astarion. He could never picture himself being a father—children disgusted and irritated him, but a small part of him might be willing to think of this horrid abomination as his beloved child. He _did_ help in its creation, after all. And in this moment, as it caused mayhem and filled the fetid air with the sweeter scent of blood, it was beautiful to him. Now he understood why Cazador kept such horrible beasts in his own lair.

“They grow up so fast, don’t they?” Tabalecus chuckled at Astarion's awe. Before they’d left his home, he changed back into his normal streetwear: the practical attire of a common laborer. “Well, we better skedaddle. Let nature take its course, an’ all that. The golem seems ta know what ta do. Hopefully it’ll keep terrorizin’ Candulhallow’s folk an’ keep ‘em distracted fer at least a lil while. Keep ‘em off _our_ backs.”

Though Astarion would have liked to stay and watch the golem’s warpath a while longer, he was eager to be out of the sewers—that wasn’t exactly his ideal place to be. He thought it was very charming that Tabalecus and Kahira escorted him, Elganon, and Orebos back to the tower they lived in (along with the party members he and Elganon acquired in their journey, although they were probably fast asleep by now in their respective rooms, completely unaware of Astarion’s little adventure tonight), until Kahira pulled out a small pouch as they approached the front door and tossed handfuls of rice grains in front of Astarion’s feet just as he was the last to enter behind Orebos and Elganon.

He tried to keep walking and pass right by the white grains, but he couldn’t. It was the stupidest thing, but for whatever reason, vampires were compelled to stop and count every grain of rice left out on a person’s doorstep before entering their home. Out of all of the downsides of his vampirism, why was it typically the dumbest quirks that the mind flayer tadpole that’d gotten into his brain couldn’t overcome?

Kahira burst into laughter as Astarion dropped to his knees and combed through the grains of rice with his fingers, separating them so that he could start his count. He hated every bit of this and felt like an utter fool. One… two… three… four… Counting by twos would be faster. Six… Eight… Ten…

Realizing what was going on, Elganon rushed back to the doorway and shot Kahira a frustrated glare. “Again!? Kahira, why?”

“Because it’s funny! Frilly’s so silly, ain’t he? Poor Frilly.” She danced around the hunched over vampire, making him lose count by hurling more grains at him. “Twenty-two! Fifty! A hundred! One bajillion! Forty-five! Three hundred and seven!”

Astarion could have cried. He was going to be at this until sunrise. Perhaps longer. “Damn you! I’ll have your head for this, you little cretin!” He wanted to get up and lash out at the deep gnome, but he was trying to fix his count. Where was he? Did he already count that pile over there? Was that pebble accidentally added into his count?

Elganon sighed and went back inside of the tower. “I’ll have to get the broom…” When he returned, he first shooed the strange gnome out of the way, then began to sweep up the grains of rice surrounding Astarion. This only angered the vampire, rather than bring him relief from his suffering.

“Elganon, you’re ruining everything! Cease at once!” He grabbed at the handle of the broom, trying to tug it away from the half-elf’s hands, but Elganon resisted to the best of his ability. He just wasn’t as strong as Astarion, but he was putting up a surprisingly good fight.

“Astarion, quit it! You _know_ this is irrational. Let me help you!” The half-elf grunted; by holding on so tightly, he was pulled to the ground by his lover as they wrestled over the broom, rolling around in the grains of rice like animals. “Give me the rice, Astarion! Let go of the broom!”

“Never!”

Several feet away, Kahira was rolling on the ground herself, roaring with laughter to the point of tears. When she got back up, she cleverly rolled the two fighting men inside of the tower and shut the door behind them, calling out, “G’night, dumb-dumbs! Thanks for the fun!” That solved that. It was totally worth dirtying her rice, which she then collected back into her bag. No sense in wasting good food.

* * *

“I can’t believe you,” Elganon sulked, taking his broom back now that Astarion had come to his senses and was willing to release his death grip on it.

“It’s not my fault, dear.” Astarion stuck out his bottom lip in a pouty way.

His half-elven lover shook his head, leaning the broom up against the wall before helping Astarion to his feet. “Let’s just get you to bed.”

“Mm,” the elf purred sensually, rubbing the back of his partner’s hands with his thumbs as he held them. “What are we going to do there?”

“Sleep.”

“Oh, well that’s not very kinky, is it?”

Elganon let out a long, exasperated breath. “Come on, you,” he said as he grabbed the elf by his frilly collar and led him up the stairs despite the protesting that proceeded.

* * *

As Astarion shut the bedroom door behind them, Elganon took a seat at his desk and brushed his shoulder-length messy hair until it was somewhat smooth, which would only last for a short time, he was sure. He took pause just as he was setting his brush aside when a folded garment was placed in front of him on the desk.

“Astarion, you didn’t.” He glared over his shoulder at the roguish vampire, who was perfectly delighted with his own mischief.

“I’m only borrowing your uncle’s robes for tonight. They’ll be returned before he even notices they’re missing,” Astarion assured him.

Elganon peered back down at them skeptically. “For _what_?”

“For a bit of fun.”

“Need I remind you of the corpse thing?”

“They smelled clean enough to me.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about you having sex with me while you’re wearing my uncle’s red wizard robes.”

“ _You’re_ going to be the one wearing them, not me, darling.”

Elganon swallowed a lump that suddenly formed in his throat. “Didn’t realize you were into Thayans.” His fingers stroked along the edges of the folded garment anxiously. It was as soft as it looked. He vaguely remembered once holding onto the hem of it when he was a child; back then, he was ignorant to the status and power that these robes signified. At that time, these were just the pretty attire that his uncle sometimes wore that he wasn’t meant to talk to anyone about—they were a secret.

“Not particularly.” Astarion massaged his lover’s shoulders, easing some of his tension. “After having that gold-colored suit commissioned for you, I thought to myself: ‘Doesn’t the look of prestige suit him well?’” He draped his arms around Elganon’s torso and kissed at his neck, resisting the urge to take a nibble. “Mmnh, do humor me just this once, my love. Please? I won’t tell a soul.”

Elganon supposed it couldn’t hurt. He’d be very careful with the robes, and Astarion of course promised to bring them back right away. What was the harm in trying them on for a while? With a relenting sigh, Elganon said, “Fine.”

He got up and stepped behind the divider near his wardrobe to change into the attire, wanting how he looked in it to be a surprise, but he was taking an awfully long time.

“Is everything alright, dear?” Astarion almost peeked behind the divider, but a pale hand shooed him away.

“I’ve almost got it. Ngh… Uncle Tabby wasn’t lying—this really is trickier than it seems to put on.” There were so many straps and tedious buttons, but after a complicated struggle, he finally had it on properly. Unfortunately, he was so much shorter than his uncle that he looked like a halfling in it. Embarrassment made him not want to come out and reveal himself to his waiting partner.

“Elganon?”

“I look stupid.”

“Oh, come now. Let’s see it.”

“No.” Elganon got that tone in his voice that indicated he was getting all teary-eyed over this small matter.

Astarion stepped behind the divider and grinned at the sight. How precious—Elganon was so cute with the sleeves coming over his hands and the hem reaching the floor, covering his feet entirely.

“Don’t laugh,” the half-elf pleaded, turning his head away shamefully.

The vampire stroked the shorter man’s cheek with the back of his hand affectionately, then ran a finger along his stubby pointed ear. On the surface, it seemed as if Astarion was only doting on him, but deep down, Elganon had the distinct feeling that he was being patronized right now.

Then the backhanded compliment came. “It’s too bad that, as far as I’m aware, they don’t allow mutts to be red wizards.”

Elganon stared at him with wide eyes. What did he just call him? “I… I’m not a—” How did he respond to that? Elganon didn’t think he could tell Astarion he was wrong; that was how most people saw his kind, but it didn’t seem right to be called that. Especially not by his lover. “Don’t say that about me,” he squeaked in pain, water building in his eyes even quicker this time.

Astarion blinked at him, confused. “What? That’s what you are, darling. Part human, part elf… You’re a mutt. And a bastard, too, if I recall correctly.”

Elganon didn’t care for the tone his lover was using with him. It was very demeaning and lackadaisically so. He shoved Astarion in the chest, but it didn’t even make the elf budge. “Why do you have to be as cruel as the other nobles around here!?” He sniffled and almost wiped his eye with the sleeve of his uncle’s robes, but quickly remembered that it would leave a trail of black eye makeup if he went through with it. So, he let the tears flow freely.

The vampire tossed his head back in jovial laughter. “I thought I’d made it perfectly clear ages ago that you’ve fallen in love with the cruelest of them all, I’m afraid. I still love you, regardless of lineage, but can’t I state the obvious without you taking offense to the truth?”

“So, we’re stating _truths_ now, are we?” Elganon bit his lip to keep it from quivering, then continued once he mustered up a little more courage. “ _You’re_ the one who fell in love with a _peasant_ —a _mutt_ as you so kindly put it—that you’re now dressing up as a red wizard, so that you can be…” What _was_ Astarion trying to accomplish here, anyway? “… _taken_ , I suppose. And what with you already being the apparent black sheep of your family, what would they think if they could see you now, hm? Would they be _proud_?”

This outburst entertained Astarion an even greater deal. He clasped his hands around Elganon’s upper arms lovingly as he giggled. “Oh, they’d be absolutely _mortified_ ,” he said plainly. “Tell me, darling, were you always so bold? I remember you being much shyer when we first met.”

Elganon was getting mixed emotions over the bizarre game that Astarion was playing with him. “Shy people don’t always say what they feel. It often invites trouble,” he answered with a hint of bitterness.

“And invite trouble you have, my dear.” Astarion tried to kiss his forehead, but his partner took him by surprise with a headbutt to the mouth. Sharp pain shot through the nerves in his fangs, jumping to the neighboring areas in his jaw. He cut his bottom lip on his own sharp teeth. “You son of a whore—”

Their arms tangled together as they grappled one another, and Astarion almost laughed at the fact that Elganon was even trying to put up a fight. There was no doubt that Astarion overpowered him in strength by a landslide, and soon he had Elganon pinned to the wooden floorboards by his wrists. The taste of his own blood as it seeped into his mouth from his wound was infuriating; the half-elf made a complete fool of him. He didn’t even feel a little bit sorry as his partner whined and struggled beneath him helplessly—he brought this upon himself.

He let go of one of Elganon’s wrists to raise up a hand, ready to strike some sense into the warlock, but all Elganon had to do was reach up and briefly manifest a spectral, skeletal hand that touched his chin with a spark of magic to send him reeling in pain as an icy sensation chilled the marrow in his ancient bones. Astarion recognized it as the Chill Touch spell he read about in the book of the dead that was gifted to him, and not only did it sting like Hells, but supposedly it also weakened undead like him for a short time. This tipped the scale in Elganon’s favor, and allowed him to overtake Astarion, slamming the back of the elf’s head against the floor.

“ _Apologize_ ,” Elganon demanded, beads of tears and sweat rolling down his face. “ _Apologize to me right this instant_.”

At the authoritative sound in his lover’s voice, Astarion felt his body tingle below the waistline, and it wasn’t due to the spell that was cast upon him. He’d forgotten all about how angry he was, and instead found himself extremely aroused by the turn of events. He groped at Elganon’s backside through the crimson robes, making Elganon’s face turn quite red as well.

“Wh..What are you doing?” The half-elf gulped, shifting uncomfortably as he straddled Astarion’s waist, and his partner’s growing erection pressed against his backside. So, this was going to happen, after all, wasn’t it? Although, unlike Astarion, Elganon was still furious, he couldn’t deny the desire that was forming within himself as well.

“Admiring the view,” Astarion said, licking the blood from his lips seductively.

Gods, he wanted to rip Astarion’s trousers off and just go for a wild ride on his tight cock until they were both breathless and spent, but Elganon didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of it. He had to be taught a lesson, or else he’d never learn.

Elganon rolled off of his lover and stood tall and poised. Astarion sat up attentively, resting on his elbows, curious as to what the warlock was up to now.

“On your knees.” Elganon pointed to the ground in front of his feet, but it took a while for Astarion to register the command. “ _Now_.”

Astarion chuckled, thinking this was some kind of joke, but Elganon continued to stare him down very severely, which quieted the haughty vampire.

“ _Do it_ , or I’m throwing you out into the cold, where you can count rice for the rest of the night. By yourself, or until the city watch snatches you up for behaving suspiciously.”

Astarion never recalled his beloved ever threatening him. Not like this, anyway. He may have made one or two minor ones in jest, but he was profoundly serious about this ultimatum.

Weakened by the spell, Astarion helplessly crawled on the floor towards Elganon’s feet, then sat up on his knees as instructed. He could barely make eye-contact with the half-elf standing before him, and when he did as he was ordered, a warm hand was brought down to ruffle his hair and scratch under his chin affectionately.

Was Elganon… petting him like a _dog_?

“Good boy,” Elganon murmured softly. “Are you hungry?”

A drink _would_ help the vampire feel a little less woozy…

Astarion nodded.

“Beg.”

“What—” A slap across the face silenced the disgraced nobleman.

“Don’t backtalk me. I said _beg_.”

By all reason, Astarion should have been horrified by all of this, given his past of being under the thumb of a vampire lord. But it didn’t cause him any grief, surprisingly. It certainly was wounding his pride, but in a way that was… exciting.

Believing that opening his mouth to speak again would earn him another slap, Astarion brushed his head against Elganon’s leg, enjoying the caress of the silken red fabric of the robe.

“You can be more convincing than that.”

The more Astarion heard his meek lover speak so commandingly, the tighter the bulge in his pants got. It was throbbing painfully now between his thighs as he held together to induce some friction as he squirmed around on his knees. This caused him to make a few mewling noises, whether he intended to or not. It pleased Elganon all the same.

With a tender smile, the half-elf placed the tip of his index finger underneath the point of Astarion’s fang, piercing the skin. A small dot of blood clotted around the area, and it was offered to the vampire.

_That’s it? He expects me to get sustenance out of a little pinprick?_

Astarion was offended by the meager offering, forgetting that he was in no position to be choosy.

“You’ll take what’s given to you, or get nothing at all,” Elganon said firmly, granting him one last chance to change his finicky attitude.

With an irritable huff, Astarion nearly took the digit into his mouth, until it was drawn away immediately.

“No sucking, no biting. You may only lick my finger. That’s all.”

Gods, and Astarion thought _he_ was cruel. He didn’t think his partner was capable of being so strict, but he’d think twice next time he considered doing something that might invoke his wrath. Elganon evidently wasn’t as helpless as he pretended to be…

Astarion cautiously tilted his head down and licked at the tiny trickle of blood. As the liquid touched his tongue, he desperately wanted more, and it was agonizing to know he couldn’t do anything about that other than pray for his lover’s mercy. Another speck continued to form in place of the blood he’d lapped up, but it just wasn’t enough. He panted and kissed at the cut, trembling with hunger as if he’d never tasted blood before.

With half-lidded eyes, Elganon took his hand away to unfasten the front of the robe, taking care not to get blood on it, revealing that he was wearing nothing underneath and was already rock hard. He pinched the wound in his finger, wincing as he forced more blood from it. Bringing his hand to his hip, he drew a small heart shape next to his groin with the substance, then beckoned Astarion with a curled finger.

Rearing up on his knees, Astarion grabbed onto the half-elf’s bare hips and brought the side with the heart drawing close to his face, taking the wet patch of skin into his mouth.

Oh… It was so good. He’d do anything for just a nibble…

As his teeth scraped against the tender flesh, his head was grabbed gingerly by the scarlet-clad warlock and redirected to the man’s crotch. Taking his shaft into one hand, Elganon pressed the tip of his member against Astarion’s lips, then slid it in slowly, sighing contently all the while.

Though Astarion was perfectly capable of fellating his partner well without help, Elganon insisted upon yielding total control over every motion of the elf’s mouth, bringing his head back and forth while tilting it from one angle to another. The only thing he couldn’t seize was his clever tongue, which rolled along the pulsating shaft, the tip of his tongue tracing every vein. The back of Astarion’s throat contracted around the head each time his lover’s member went in deep, eliciting thrilled cries from the half-elf.

When it got to be too much for Elganon, he slipped his firm cock from the elf’s mouth and took a moment to catch his breath. Astarion went back to burying his face against his lover’s hip while stroking his smooth, bare legs. The vampire wanted to please him—wanted to feel his heartbeat in his mouth with fangs plunged deep into his delicate flesh.

Astarion slid a hand down the front of his trousers, unable to resist playing with himself in his eagerness. As he brushed aside his own foreskin, he could tell that the tip of his manhood was already wet with passion. He wanted to put it deep inside of his lover. He didn’t care _where_ , as long as his warmth swathed him, and his moans filled his ears.

“Stop that,” Elganon hissed, ripping Astarion’s hand away from his trousers. “Bad boy. I didn’t say you could touch yourself.” Astarion’s scarlet eyes pleaded with him, but to no avail.

The vampire was hauled to his feet by his wrist and slung over the warlock’s lap as he sat upon the bed they shared in the small room. His abdomen quivered with anticipation as his trousers were tugged down to his thighs, leaving his backside exposed to the cold air. His muscles relaxed as a warm hand brushed against one of the bare cheeks, but tensed up again when it was suddenly struck with a loud smack.

Elganon never spanked him before. Astarion had done it to him on more than one occasion, but he never thought he’d be on the receiving end at any point. The half-elf’s hand wasn’t very firm due to his lack of physical might, but it was no less delightful as the gentle hand swatted his rear a few more times in succession, leaving bright red marks on the pale skin. Astarion ground his hips into his beloved’s thigh, humping him enthusiastically as the strikes came one after another.

“You’d better not come before I’m done with you,” Elganon warned with a small smirk, allowing the elf this pleasure. Seeing Astarion behave so energetically softened his heart; the vampire was so happy in the moment.

Astarion bobbed his head fervently as he continued to thrust into his partner’s leg, groaning and craning his neck with his dark eyelids squeezed shut. A pair of lubricated fingers separated his cheeks and one of them entered his yearning hole.

“Please let me bite you. Please let me bite you,” gasped the elf, who dug his blunt fingernails into Elganon’s thigh.

“Very well, but only because I think you’ve learned your lesson,” cooed Elganon permissively, scissoring both fingers that were now inside of Astarion. He doubted the man actually _had_ learned his lesson, but it was difficult to remain mad at him when he could be so frustratingly charming in his strange ways.

Elganon whimpered when his other arm was grabbed, fangs pierced the flesh on his wrist, and he was drank from voraciously. He didn’t even consider that it would restore Astarion’s constitution, until he found himself shoved down onto the bed with his legs lifted into the air. Astarion had found the bottle of lubricant and was already lubing himself up with its contents.

“That was a dirty trick, Astarion,” Elganon said with a pout, though he wasn’t entirely disappointed about being placed in such a vulnerable position. His own hole was aching with want, and Astarion was only happy to serve.

“I’m a very dirty boy,” the elf replied with a devious chuckle, shivering underneath his own touch. He briefly thumbed at the half-elf’s hole with lubricant coating the digit, then let a glob of the slippery substance pour from the bottom of the bottle down his lover’s taint until it reached his entrance, at which point, Astarion took this as his opportunity to slide his cock inside.

The curling of Elganon’s toes drew his attention to them, and clutching one of the man’s feet in his hand, he nipped at the toes as if they were delicious little snacks, drawing trace amounts of blood that encouraged him to thrust faster at the savory taste. 

Elganon held an arm behind his head and arched his back into the former magistrate’s ardent administrations, breathing raggedly and writhing in ecstasy. He didn’t care that his foot was bleeding profusely, nor minded when Astarion moved on to assaulting the other one when he feared the first one was becoming too vulnerable from all the biting. 

As long as the tip of his manhood kept hammering against his prostate as nicely as it did, the vampire could do anything he liked to him, for all he cared. The warlock jerked himself hard as his own climax neared, and Astarion reached down to help him with the task, palming the head of the cock with his rougher hand.

Astarion buried himself deep inside of the half-elf when he came; his seed wasn’t warm, but it was plentiful. Elganon honestly wasn’t sure how, in undeath, the elf’s body continued to produce semen, but he wasn’t complaining. He felt full and sustained, just as his lover did, when he ejaculated into Astarion’s palm, coating it with hot, sticky cum, which the vampire brought to his curious tongue.

“It doesn’t hurt you to eat that, does it?” Elganon blurted out inquisitively.

Astarion laughed. “No more than it harms you, my dear.” He licked his hand clean, which made Elganon blush. “At worst, I get a slight tummy ache, but if that happens, I’ll have you rub my belly for me, since you’re so keen on treating me like a dog today.”

Elganon glowered at him, arms folding across his chest. “You _did_ call me a mutt.”

Lowering his partner’s legs so that he could crawl into his arms, Astarion muttered into his ear, “And how did it feel to get _fucked_ by a _purebred_ tonight?”

There was a long pause before Elganon hit him over the head with a pillow. “You’re such an absolute prick, you know that?”

Astarion knew, and he reveled in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Turn to strike my face. Always second place. Tell me again why is it I never can do anything right?"
> 
> Recommended Listening: Hot Rod by Dayglow


	8. A Secret of the Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As it turns out, Astarion isn't the only one haunted by his past. When he began to pry about Elganon's missing father, he didn't expect to get any real answers.

Astarion thought that when he made his return to Baldur’s Gate, along with his misfit traveling party, and was taken to be introduced to his love interest Elganon’s surrogate family, he’d be meeting a bunch of ordinary poor folk that were common to the city—more common than he liked. Instead, they were people just as strange and with lives as charmed as his own. Wicked folk, they were, in their own unique ways—his kind of people, despite their impoverished lifestyles. 

Though he kept this fact a secret, they were growing on him, slowly but surely. Even the surly duergar that played the reluctant role of Elganon’s father—Orebos was his name—though Astarion wished the curmudgeonly gray dwarf would stop calling him “Frilly”. The elven vampire hadn’t even realized that it had already been a month since he decided to stay long-term at the apothecary Orebos operated out of a strange magical tower that he never knew existed in the city, even after over two hundred years of life (or unlife, rather).

“An’ now tha’ we’ve ground tha ogre toenails into a fine powder, we can add it tae tha mixture like so,” mumbled the dwarf, going on with his flat lecture about how to create a salve that would supposedly stave off joint pain.

Why couldn’t Orebos choose Gale, the wizard of Astarion’s traveling companions, as his new shop attendant? He was much more fascinated in the dwarf’s cure recipes. Astarion worried that he was chosen instead because the duergar expected him to remain at the tower after his quest to relieve himself of the mind flayer tadpole growing in his brain at an unnaturally slow rate. (He thought that by now, the little creature would have eaten through his brain matter, but maybe it was repulsed by his mind and those of his companions?)

Astarion supposed it was fair that the dwarf would assume he’d stick along for the long-haul, since the elf was romantically involved with his half-elven son, but he in no way wanted to go from being a magistrate—a mostly easy, if dull, station—to someone who dug around for reagents in gross places, mixed them into potions and creams, and sold them to argumentative customers that could hardly afford them in the first place. He deserved better in life (…unlife…whichever…), or so he told himself.

“Are ye listenin’, lad?” Orebos furrowed his bushy white eyebrows at him angrily, resenting that he might have to repeat himself.

“How does a duergar find himself leaving the Underdark, anyway?” Astarion thought out loud when it crossed his mind that he never did ask about how the gray dwarf came to reside in Baldur’s Gate when his kind wasn’t looked upon very favorably by the surface world. If Astarion was going to live among these people, he may as well get to know them.

Orebos sighed, shaking his head, and deciding to skip the rest of the lecture. He went about finishing up the salve without commentary on what he was doing but hoped that Astarion was at least watching for future reference. “You ever been tae tha’ Underdark yerself, Frilly?”

Coincidentally, the vampire and his team _had_ paid a visit there, and it was a whirlwind of excitement, to say the least. “I have, actually.”

“Then ye know it’s feckin’ shite down there.” The gray dwarf tested a dab of the ointment on his elbow that had been hurting him recently, and then nodded approvingly as it dulled the pain in seconds. “Surface world ain’t much better, but it’ll have tae do.”

“I believe it’s often said that the grass is always greener on the other side,” Astarion commented with a slight smirk. “Surely you think of home on occasion.” He was hoping to pry _something_ substantial out of the reserved dwarf about his past, one way or another.

“Not much grass growin’ at all in tha Underdark, nor Baldur’s Gate,” grumbled Orebos as he placed a lid over the container of freshly made salve and stowed it underneath the shop’s counter. “Ye go wherever life takes ye, an’ then tha’s where ye are. Simple as tha’.”

Astarion hummed agreeably and nodded; he could relate to that sentiment, although truth be told, he himself secretly pined for his days as a mere nobleman. He wasn’t as powerful as he was now, nor was life quite as exciting, but he didn’t feel so tormented. He knew who he was back then—or thought he did, at any rate—and that made things comfortable. Boring, but comfortable.

“Elganon mentioned that he was left at your doorstep as an infant. At least tell me how _that_ happened. No offense, but I’m puzzled as to why anyone in their right mind would choose _you,_ of all people, to care for their unwanted child.” Astarion rested his forearms against the counter, trying to resist that his eyes wanted to wander and take in all the little bottles and jars of things the apothecary had for sale. 

It seemed that every time he browsed the shop floor, there were items that were new to him that he never noticed before among all the bizarre clutter. Much of it he didn’t really want to know the purpose nor origin of, since almost everything here appeared foul and he was aware by now that most of it likely came from some graveyard or crypt, even the plants—especially the plants, as they grew best in the highly fertile soil where decaying bodies lay.

“It’s not really me story tae tell—it’s Elg’s,” said the duergar with a sigh.

Astarion frowned disappointedly. “I’m sure you remember it better than he would. He was just a baby at the time, after all.”

Orebos scratched his bald head, causing a few flakes of dead skin to fall from his dry scalp, to Astarion’s disgust which he could barely hide. “I dunnae if he’d want ye tae know… Ye know he gets real fussy when I say anythin’ personal about ‘im tha’ he hasn’t said himself. Lad bawls enough tae give Ilmater a run fer ‘is money, seems like.”

“It’ll be between us,” Astarion assured him. “It isn’t fair that I know so little about his own life, when I’ve already told him so much about my own.”

“Ah, well…” Orebos relented, if only because he’d rather the elf shut up and stop delving into such personal questions. It was better off that Astarion was now asking about Elganon than himself, anyway. The boy would just have to forgive him later. “Elg’s tha son o’ tha leader o’ my ole adventurin’ band o’ merry arseholes. Strange man, Elg’s father wuz. Sort o’ miss tha bastard. ‘e wuz a high elf, like yerself. Ye kinda remind me o’ him, actually. Personality-wise.”

That came as a surprise. Astarion wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or a bad thing that he apparently bore similarities to his lover’s parent. Given how rude Orebos was to him, he assumed it was unfavorable. Although Orebos _did_ mention that he missed his former companion.

“Who was he? I might have heard of his exploits.” Astarion rested his jaw on his fists, leaning forward against the counter with rapt interest.

“We make it a point not tae mention ‘im by name anymore. Wuz a powerful sorcerer. Invokin’ ‘is name seems a bad omen, an’ I won’t chance it,” the duergar explained. “We don’t bring up our other ole companion’s name, neither.”

“For similar reasons, I presume?”

“Nae. It’s just depressin’ hearin’ ‘er name, is all.”

Orebos frowned heavily under his beard, and he turned his back to Astarion to sort through his herb collection in the drawers at the shelf behind the counter. Really, he just didn’t want to give the vampire the pleasure of seeing him express a tender emotion for a change. “At any rate, it wuz left up tae me tae look after ‘is baby boy when ‘e up an’ disappeared. Said he wuz gonna come back when Elg got a lil older.”

“And did he?” Astarion asked.

“Dunnae.”

What kind of answer was that?

“Dunnae tell tha lad I said this, but Elg’s tha best thing tha bastard’s ever made in ‘is life. I don’t regret takin’ tha boy in. ‘e’s not perfect, but he’s a good lad. Dependin’ on yer definition o’ “good”, anyway. Awkward as all Hells an’ cowardly as can be, but always done right by me.” The gray dwarf pulled an order form out of his breast pocket, skimmed it over, then put it back where it came from. He went through the straightened drawers a second time, collected what he needed, and crushed up the necessary components with a mortar and pestle, deciding he may as well keep busy even if the order wasn’t due for another day. “Be good tae Elg, alright? Lad’s lived a hard life as it is. Make it any harder on ‘im, an’ I’ll feckin’ kill ye, got it?”

Astarion made a quiet amused sound.

The grinding sound of herbs being crushed and mixed ceased. “I mean it.”

* * *

The next day, Astarion’s conversation with Orebos from the prior afternoon was the furthest thing from the vampire’s mind. Right now, all he cared about was finding where the bag of belongings that he didn’t always carry on him when he went out had disappeared to among all of Elganon’s hoarded tat. He told his lover not to touch his stuff, but lo and behold, it was gone from where he last placed it.

“Little bastard,” the disgraced nobleman grumbled. “I’m going to slap the taste out of his mouth the next time I see him.” He’d gotten so frustrated and careless in his search that the pile of books he was holding in place toppled over onto the ground. “ _Shit!_ Gods _damn it_ ,” he hissed as he went to pick them back up.

Something caught his attention when he lifted up an herbology book. Underneath it was a drawing, an old one that must have been made by a child. He set his armful of books on the desk and reached for the sheet of paper, bringing it up to his face. Children’s drawings were often tough to decipher, but as far as he could tell, this was clearly one of Elganon as a child drinking tea with a… sheep-creature of some sort that had two tails, four eyes, and was quite tall. The sheep-thing was giving Elganon something. It looked like a brightly colored ball.

Then the significance of the image registered in his mind. “That’s his patron…” 

But Elganon had told him that he made the pact when he was an adult, not long before he tried to leave Baldur’s Gate in the first place, until the encounter with the mind flayers brought him right back. Had he lied? It wasn’t unlikely. He noticed more and more that Elganon frequently danced around the truth, and unfortunately Elganon was significantly better than he was at dipping into the mind-reading power of their Illithid tadpoles. 

Even though they had made a mutual agreement not to resort to it as often as they used to, both as a matter of trust and as a safety precaution in the event that it was dangerous to keep invoking its power, Astarion desperately wanted to know what all Elganon hid from him. He feared it was a lot. He once thought that Elganon was an easy book to read—that he was a very naïve young man who wore his heart on his sleeve, but now he’d come to know that the notion was far from the truth.

Astarion might not have much success in reading Elganon’s _mind_ , but when he peered around the room with a fresh idea coming to mind, he wondered if he could find some answers among his other belongings. Now instead of rummaging with the intent of finding his own things, he was searching for secrets hidden within all the clutter.

By the time he nearly rearranged the entire room, he didn’t come up with anything, except the discovery that there was a small door hidden behind the wardrobe. Was that always there?

The moment he put his hands on the edge of the wardrobe to slide it aside, it started moving on its own with a gentle push. Clearly whatever mechanism or enchantment that did that was for Elganon’s sake. He wasn’t the strongest of men, and it was doubtful that he could move the piece of furniture without some assistance. Not without hurting himself.

Astarion tried the doorknob on the little door, but it wouldn’t budge. Locked, and his thieves’ tools were in his missing bag. “Damn…”

Footsteps approached from behind. “Get away from there. Now.” 

The vampire spun around to see Elganon glaring at him with suspicion. “O-Oh, hello, darling. I was looking for my things, and I thought they might be in here.”

“ _They’re not_ ,” Elganon snapped, tossing Astarion’s bag at the elf’s feet. “What gives you the right to go snooping through my things? Just because we’re lovers—”

“What gives you the right to move _my_ things?” the vampire growled back, picking up his bag and closing the gap between them. Now that he was looming over Elganon, being significantly taller than the half-elf, he suddenly wasn’t so brave to stand up to Astarion. Elganon shrank, appearing as meek and doe eyed as ever.

* * *

* * *

“S-Sorry, I—” Elganon’s eyes glossed over, and he let out a defeated whimper. “It just hurts me that you’d wait until I’m not around to go nosing about. What’s that supposed to make me think, hm?”

Astarion averted his gaze from Elganon’s captivating emerald-colored eyes. He fancied himself a cold-hearted bastard, but whenever the half-elf got that pitiful gleam in his eyes, it was almost impossible to have the will to do anything that might break that fragile little heart of his. He was even more torn when Elganon buried his face into his breast, coaxing the elf into embracing him gently and rubbing his back.

“Dearest, it’s alright. What’s got you so upset about some silly little door? You don’t have skeletons in your closet, or something, do you?” Astarion’s fangs showed when he smiled jovially at his own jest. “Considering that you were raised by necromancers, that’s hardly anything to get in a tizzy about, if that should be the case.”

“Nothing like that.” Elganon sniffled and smiled up at him. Gods, he was so adorable. Astarion thought for a moment that his heart was beating again from seeing such a pretty face peek up at him. “It’s silly, really. Old things from my childhood. Embarrassing stuff.”

“Is that all? Why don’t you show me? I won’t laugh.” But Astarion was chuckling already. “Well, I’ll try not to, at least.”

Elganon’s finger lazily traced the embroidery on Astarion’s doublet. “I was thinking we could do something a little more interesting…”

“Oh?” Astarion grinned. “Like what?”

The warlock got on his tiptoes to hold the vampire’s face delicately while capturing his mouth in his own. Their open mouths caressed one another’s soft lips, sucking and kissing slowly with wet sounds that made both men shiver. Their eyes were locked with each other’s, half-lidded and filled with desire. Astarion’s palms were traveling down Elganon’s hips when the half-elf froze, eyes going wide and pale face going completely colorless at the sight of his childhood drawing laying on the desk beside a pile of books.

Elganon’s eyes darted back to Astarion’s face and a sharp pain pierced the elf’s mind as the green eyes flickered about in all directions searchingly. The vampire let out a cry of pain as his thoughts were invaded and combed through in the same manner he’d rummaged through the contents of the bedroom. Elganon was trying to resist sharing anything with him, but it didn’t work. 

Old memories flashed through his mind’s eye. A lost boy, roaming around a garden in the park, hardly aware of his own surroundings, staring with glassy eyes at a demon that only he could see. The demon offered an outstretched hand, and the boy accepted it, tilting his head curiously with a blank expression at the mysterious and wretched sheep-creature. 

As Astarion inhabited the boy’s body in the memory, he felt numb the entire time he was peering out of those glossed-over eyes. Elganon wasn’t crying then, he was just… lost. Not only in Baldur’s Gate at that time, but to the world. As ignorant as a fish gazing through glass, incapable of understanding the complexity of everything around it. Normal children weren’t all that smart, in Astarion’s experience, but Elganon was no normal child. Something was very wrong about him.

Astarion knew he’d seen exactly what Elganon was trying to hide because when the pain resided and his mind was clear again, Elganon wore a look of utter horror. “What was that?”

“N-Nothing…”

“Don’t play stupid with me. _Tell me what I just saw_ ,” insisted the vampire, grabbing his lover by the wrists.

Elganon couldn’t look him in the face anymore, turning his own in shame. “I…” Astarion could feel his uneven pulse in the veins in his wrists. He was becoming faint with dread. “Astarion, I’m…”

The warlock wrenched his wrists free. Or rather, Astarion let go of him the minute he put up a struggle because he didn’t want to break his bones by accident. Elganon, with trembling legs, stumbled over to the small door and retrieved his keyring from the pouch on his belt, using one of the keys to unlock the door. He flung it open, revealing that there was an ornate chest behind it. Serpents were engraved into the chest’s lid and one coiled around the missing lock.

“Go ahead,” Elganon said weakly. “Open it.” He stepped aside, rubbing one of his arms anxiously. He couldn’t bear to watch as Astarion stepped forward to kneel before it and flip open the lid.

There was a variety of seemingly precious things inside. A regal set of light armor, a ceremonial dagger, a magical focus, enchanted rings, a wand—these were all the personal belongings of a great adventurer, a sorcerer, perhaps. At the bottom of the chest was a journal, and Astarion suspected that it was this item in particular that Elganon wanted him to see. The vampire opened it up and thumbed through the pages, glossing over the private records.

_…I couldn’t find the secret to the Philosopher’s Stone, but I did find something else in that tomb. It’s a gamble, but I fear that there’s not much time left for me and I’m running out of options. I shouldn’t have bargained away my lifespan for power, but I thought I had more time than this. It went by so quickly…_

_Once the vessel has reached full maturity, if all goes well, I should be able to transfer my soul from this failing body to it. Orebos isn’t too happy about the arrangement—I think he’s gone soft, but he’ll do as I say if he knows what’s good for him. He’d better not ruin this for me. I’ve gone too far for it to all end like this. I can’t have just killed my best friend for nothing. I can’t._

Astarion set the book in his lap as he peered up at Elganon. “I’m… not sure I understand.”

“Astarion…” Elganon took a deep breath, and then released it slowly and shakily. “I’m not a real person. I’m a clone. I was born without a soul.” He gestured to his own body. “My only purpose in life was to be a vessel—a new body for my real father to inhabit when he died. He created me exactly to his specifications, made me an idealized version of what he was in his youth. He wanted to be half-elven in the next life, so that he could better traverse the human world.”

Tears had started rolling down Elganon’s face, and it became hard for him to speak clearly. “Vain,” he managed to spit out after choking back his sorrow. “He was vain, and he only cared about _himself_ , nothing else. He wanted to be young and beautiful and powerful forever and ever, and he’d do _anything_ to get that. Even turn on his own friends and make abominations like me. I never even knew the man, and I _hate_ him more than anything.”

Astarion returned the journal to the chest and stood up to hold Elganon in his arms as the half-elf wept. Elganon had cried plenty of times in front of him, but he’d never heard his lover howl with such brokenhearted agony as he did now. He petted Elganon’s raven black hair, shushed him, and rocked him side to side, but nothing soothed his tormented heart, and the sound of the pained sobs wracked his own nerves after a time.

“Dearest, dearest, please. Don’t cry. I’m here. Shhh…” Astarion kissed the top of his head, then nuzzled it, hoping that any of his affections would help. Eventually, Elganon simply exhausted himself, making his throat to hoarse to cry out, and he’d sobbed until his eyes were spent and dried out. Astarion continued to hug him tightly and rock him in his arms, even when Elganon’s body slumped tiredly. “It’s going to be alright…”

Astarion couldn’t help but consider a question that crossed his mind, and he had to ask. “Darling, if you don’t have a soul, then… How do you seem so alive _now_?”

Elganon rubbed his face with his hands, panting a bit before responding. “What do you think my patron offered me when we made our bargain?”

The vampire’s gut twisted into a knot. So, _that_ was why he was so loyal to the demon… Astarion had to admit that if he were in his partner’s shoes, he might have made the same deal. Being a vampire spawn was awful, but he couldn’t even fathom what it was like to exist without a soul at all. Astarion’s might have been fractured and warped by the process of being changed into a creature of the night, but he was reasonably certain that he at least still had one. Somewhere. He just couldn’t find it in a mirror.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,” Elganon mumbled with a sad hiccup. “I was afraid that you wouldn’t love me anymore if you knew. I already thought you looked down on me for being poor and a half-breed. I thought that if you knew I wasn’t a person at all—”

Astarion gripped the sides of Elganon’s head and spoke more seriously now than he ever had before with his beloved. “You _are_ a person, Elganon. No one can ever take that away from you.”

“How do you—”

“Because I’ll never let them.”

The warlock was pulled close to the vampire’s chest again and held onto as if he could vanish at any moment.

“No one will ever take you from me,” Astarion said. "Not your father, not the mind flayers, not anyone or anything."

Elganon believed him. He wanted to, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Shilo, when I was young, I used to call your name. When no one else would come, Shilo, you always came, and we'd play."
> 
> Recommended Listening: Shilo by Neil Diamond


	9. Loviatar Loves You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astarion and Elganon once again find themselves in a tryst with a third party they've encountered in their travels together, but the vampire is starting to become a little alarmed by how fast Elganon's personal tastes are developing (and by what direction they're taking) since his sexual debut.

Just when Astarion thought he had his lover Elganon figured out, something unexpected about the quirky half-elf came forth to surprise him. What happened to the meek little lamb he met on the beach, he wondered? That might have been who Elganon was on the surface, but there was more going on internally. Strange and unusual things.

How delightful.

Astarion knew that Elganon had a scholarly interest in the various gods of Faerûn, so when his beloved predictably asked to know more about the goddess Loviatar from one of her priests they encountered along their travels, the vampire had jokingly insisted that he must accept the priest’s offer to demonstrate the proper ways of worshipping the Maiden of Pain. He was so accustomed to Elganon’s fear of danger that he didn’t actually expect him to accept.

The cleric, Abdirak was who he introduced himself as, gently took the half-elf by the hand and murmured, “Right this way, dear one. This is a _sacred_ ritual best kept private.” His scarred grin said that he could tell Elganon’s heart was pounding in his chest.

Did Astarion find himself a little bit jealous? “I-I should be present for this,” he blurted out, drawing the attention of their other two accompanying party members, Shadowheart and Wyll. “Er… To make sure he’s not biting off more than he can chew, of course. He’s an eager one when it comes to… curiosity.” He rubbed the back of his neck, desperately wishing Wyll and Shadowheart would stop staring at him as if he were from another realm.

Abdirak was all the more thrilled to hear that his new plaything—ah, charge—was particularly enthusiastic. He didn’t have many willing participants seeking out his services since his arrival at the goblin camp. He glanced over at Elganon with fondness in his eyes and said, “Only if this one would be willing to have you as a witness to his penance.” 

The half-elf warlock nodded bashfully, looking as if he were about to faint right here and now. “Y-Yes, I would be honored if he could be my, erm, witness,” he stammered.

Wyll covered his face in a fit of secondhand shame. “Gods…”

Shadowheart shifted uncomfortably, folding her arms across her chest with a grimace. “Well, have fun, blasphemers. We’ll be here when you return. _If_ you return…”

Elganon gave them one last glance, one that pleaded for help, as he was led into an adjacent chamber by the priest with Astarion following at his side. But he’d gotten himself into this mess, and now he was going to have to suffer the consequences, whatever they may be.

The chamber was only dimly lit by a few sparse candles, but it was just enough light for Elganon to see the horrors within. It was a torture room, pure and simple, and much of the blood coating many of the barbaric devices was fresh. He wasn’t looking forward to this, but Astarion seemed intoxicated by the smell of blood in the air.

The priest’s battered muscular arms wrapped around Elganon from behind and began to unfasten the strings of his tunic with great care so as not to frighten him, sensing his unease. He rested his chin on the warlock’s shoulder, and whispered, “Calm yourself, dear one. Pain is nothing to fear. It’s a reminder that we’re alive.”

When Elganon peered over his shoulder, he looked past the cleric and his eyes met with Astarion’s curiously. The vampire smiled approvingly with raised eyebrows as his lover was made bare from the waist up, and he tugged at the frills of his own collar. He very much wanted to see this…interaction between his lover and the priest.

Abdirak grabbed onto Elganon’s naked waist to turn him around, gawking when he noticed that the warlock’s body was already covered in what appeared to be bite marks—they were _everywhere_. “Oh my,” he gasped, lightheaded at the gorgeous sight. “I think you know more of my goddess’ love than you realize, dear child.” 

His calloused fingers ran across the newest of the marks, making Elganon shiver under his touch while wincing as the healing process of the scars were disturbed by his prodding. Abdirak found the mark that Astarion had made when he took Elganon as a snack a few hours earlier, and bent down on his knees to start kissing at the wound reverently, running his tongue along it so harshly that it bled anew.

“Yes,” the cleric sighed, thoroughly entranced. “Loviatar loves you _very much_ indeed.” The praise and physical attention, as much as it stung, made his charge’s head swim with desire, eliciting exquisite whimpers from the half-elf. It was so enchanting that Abdirak couldn’t help but relieve the young man of his boots and trousers as well. It laid bare not only the man’s flesh, but the rest of his scars. 

Why, the sheer amount of them made him feel almost inadequate in comparison! Had Loviatar herself sent him this divine creature to test his own faith? To show him a more perfect example of her love?

_Goddess, I am unworthy of this gift_ , he prayed silently, inhaling sharply through his nostrils in an attempt to contain his ecstasy. _But thank you for sending your child to me, most holy one. I shall whip myself raw a dozen times over to express my gratitude to you when this is all through._

Abdirak got to his feet and asked, “My child, where shall I mark you that you haven’t already been marked? And what inflicted such wounds? I must know.”

With red-tinted ears, Elganon pointed to Astarion behind him, who had already stripped himself completely naked in his own excitement. Before the priest could even turn, Astarion was behind him, arms wrapped around his waist and his chin on his shoulder, much like the priest had done earlier with Elganon. The vampire was flashing him a fanged smirk.

“Me. I’m his lover,” Astarion purred, pressing his naked body against the human’s backside while his thumbs hooked into the front of the man’s ankle-length kilt, pulling the fabric down to his pubic region to give Elganon a better view of his impressive musculature.

_You fancy him, don’t you?_ Astarion asked his partner, using the telepathic connection the Illithid tadpoles in their brains permitted them.

The question caught Elganon off guard. _W-Well, I…_

_It’s alright, dear. I enjoy seeing you excited to play with someone else, as long as I get to watch. I do so enjoy seeing your budding sexuality blossom, my love. Give in to your temptation._

While the cleric was still aghast at the realization that Astarion was a vampire, Elganon sandwiched the man between Astarion and himself, capturing Abdirak’s thin lips in his fuller ones, guided by the passion that washed over him. He toyed with the man’s erect nipples, pinching them painfully in a way he was sure the sadistic human would enjoy; he was right. The man was already moaning in pleasure, and Elganon thrusted their hips together as they kissed, biting at each other’s lips while their growing erections were kept apart only by the thin layer of purple and black fabric making up the priest’s kilt, until Astarion was kind enough to unbuckle the belts to allow the garment to fall to the stone ground.

When Elganon reached down to grab the man’s shaft, he was surprised to see that he had no foreskin—there was a bright ugly scar where it had been cut off rather sloppily, though he guessed it must have been done slowly and methodically, with an intent of prolonging the gruesome experience. The mental image made him grimace with a sympathetic pain echoing in his own phallus in that area.

_Not for me_ , he thought to himself, hoping the priest had nothing like that in mind for him.

Then he noticed something else alarming about the human’s genitals. Had he cut out one of his testicles as well?

Elganon winced and swallowed hard. Maybe he didn’t want this goddess’ favor, after all.

Although, peering over the man’s shoulder again while he fondled his girthy shaft, the half-elf saw that Astarion was enjoying himself, rutting the underside of his hard-on between Abdirak’s arse cheeks shamelessly while panting in the groaning human’s ear and clawing up his arse with blunt fingernails. Elganon couldn’t just spoil his mate’s fun by running away now.

_Help me bring him over to the rack_ , Elganon instructed Astarion, hating to disturb the elf.

_Mmm, but I thought we were here for your penance, dear,_ Astarion purred in his mind.

_Change of plans._

Astarion was thrilled to see where this was going, so he had no issue with lifting the man he was humping up by his thighs and aiding Elganon in carrying him over to the nearby rack, where they plopped him down, and the warlock began fastening the cleric to the rack with remarkable dexterity after removing his boots.

“ _Oh_ , Loviatar _has_ sent you to me!” Abdirak arched his back excitedly as his wrists and ankles were bound tightly; he couldn’t be happier at the turn of events. “Yes, tighter! I want there to be _bruises_.”

_Which way do I turn the wheel?_

_My, my, Elganon. I never knew you were so kinky!_

_Don’t judge me, please…_

_I was a magistrate, darling. It was my duty to judge others for their sins._

The warlock huffed, but he proceeded to follow Astarion’s lead when he spun the wheel to the rack around one way, taking the other side into his hands to assist in turning it. They stopped when they both heard a painful pop.

“Ah~! Ah~!” cried the priest, tightening his fists and curling his toes. His cock was throbbing against his disfigured thigh, weeping with precum at the delicious shock of pain that was flowing through his bone marrow. “One more turn, dear child,” he begged. “I promise that I can take it. I give the whole of myself to the goddess and her whims!”

Elganon eyed Astarion, who nodded, assuring him that they could safely turn the wheel once more. Another sickening crack.

“Gah!”

Did they kill him? No, thankfully they hadn’t. Gods, Elganon had never done something like this before, and he was so nervous. How did he muster the nerve to initiate this in the first place? Even more troubling was how arousing it was to see Abdirak writhing in agony against his tight bondage, enthralled with his own suffering.

The half-elf crawled into the priest’s lap, careful not to break his spine as he sat upon his abdomen and explored his sweating muscles with his fingertips. His fingers were pricked upon the scourge on his mantle, but he didn’t care; Elganon was accustomed to bleeding a little every now and then from Astarion’s love bites. The man was so handsome, and clearly in need of his love. After all, he apparently thought of him as some avatar of his goddess. Who was he to deny the cleric his perceived reward for his sacrifices?

Astarion slipped behind Elganon, apparently having retrieved a bottle of lubricant from the half-elf’s belongings on the floor, as he was now inserting a slick finger into his lover’s hole. Abdirak seemed to enjoy the weight of both men upon him, as it increased his pain while he was in such a precarious position on the rack. The priest was watching with rapt attention as Elganon mewled and bucked his hips backward in rhythm while his partner prepared him, leaning his head against the vampire’s neck.

Elganon whispered something to the elf, and lubricant was administered into his hand. He slicked up his fingers with them, then penetrated the cleric with two of them, curling his fingers deep inside. Perhaps it was his apparent pre-existing looseness that invited the half-elf to stick a third, then fourth finger inside, pumping in and out at a maddeningly slow pace. Abdirak was wishing the entire hand would soon go in, but alas, he was denied this pleasure, as the slender fingers were taken away.

As a consolation of sorts, the vampire thrust his cock deep inside him while the warlock took the whole of the cleric’s shaft into himself with a pleasured sigh. Astarion hugged Elganon tightly while pumping his lover’s cock as they fucked the priest in tandem. It was glorious to watch as Astarion bit into his partner’s neck like a ravenous beast while passing a scourge into Elganon’s palm that he’d found laying on the table of instruments beside the rack.

Leaning back into the vampire’s chest, Elganon whipped at the priest’s bare chest, leaving fresh streaks of gore with every stroke. The sharp barbs at the end of each tail on the implement cut through the flesh like it was nothing. Abdirak’s chest heaved with each strike, which he took with great pride and elegance. He was admiring the half-elf’s gruesome work as if he were taking mental notes. Soon, the entirety of his breast was rendered a bloody mess, and the scent enticed the vampire into snaking around his lover to slurp up the crimson streams that oozed from the wounds, all without pausing in his lovemaking to the human.

Abdirak couldn’t have _dreamed_ of a more ideal circumstance. If this moment didn’t prove that he was chosen by Loviatar herself, nothing else would.

When Astarion was getting a little too frisky with indulging in the feast of blood, Elganon turned the tails of the whip upon the vampire’s upper back to scold him. “Ow!” squeaked the vampire. “Don’t use that thing on _me_ , you cheeky little whelp!”

“Don’t you miss your mortality at times?” asked Abdirak weakly, tensing each time the pale creature plunged deeply into him with reckless abandon. “The tender touch of the whip does wonders in grounding us to the mortal coil, my child…”

“Quiet, you,” Astarion snapped, getting rougher with the man, only to be reminded that the priest _enjoyed_ that as he started screaming in pleasure. On the plus side, Elganon was getting off to this; beads of precum were dribbling down his shaft and rolling down Astarion’s fingers. Deviously, Astarion tightened his grip around the base of Elganon’s cock, preventing the ejaculate from leaving his swollen balls anytime soon, and forced the warlock to ride the cleric harder and faster with the assistance of his other hand.

“Nhh..? Astarion, that’s too tight; I can’t come,” the half-elf whined, letting the scourge drop from his hand and clatter to the floor so that he could hold onto his lover’s head for support while he bounced on the long, hard cock inside of him.

Astarion nipped at his exposed neck a few times before purring, “I know. Doesn’t it hurt?”

“Y-Yes, badly,” Elganon gasped, tears rolling down his face at the building pain. “Please, let me come! It hurts!” This confession, along with the half-elf’s pathetic weeping, must have been enough to send the cleric on edge because moments later, the warlock was filled with the human’s hot seed after a strangled cry came from Abdirak’s throat.

But Astarion didn’t stop, and he kept clutching Elganon’s cock shaft firmly until he reached his own climax first, bucking into the human even after he was spent. Finally, his fingers loosened around his lover’s erection, allowing ropes of cum to spray forth, and they shot so high on the priest’s body that they were mingling with the open wounds on his chest, causing a delectable burning sensation that made Abdirak screw his eyelids shut and bite down on his lip until he felt his blunt teeth break the skin.

When the three men had come down from their high, and they were no longer an amalgamation of writhing nude bodies once both Astarion and Elganon reluctantly dismounted, they gasped for air—even Astarion who didn’t need to breathe, but typically found himself doing it out of habit after all of these years. Filling his lungs with air gave his throat the required vibrations to speak, so a breath or two wasn’t so useless even in undeath.

“That was…divine,” uttered the priest while the lovers freed him from the rack. He got down on his knees before the two, hugging their legs and kissing at their limp phalluses as a show of gratitude for the holy (unholy?) experience.

Astarion and Elganon exchanged glances of uncertainty, and Elganon shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t expect things to go like this any more than Astarion did. He often just followed his whims and went where fate took him.

“Please don’t leave just yet,” Abdirak begged, bringing his hands together. “After what you both have done for me, my goddess demands that I return the favor.”

“Oh, that’s quite alright—” Astarion started to say, but it was no use.

“I insist. Let me show you the love of Loviatar that you two have so graciously blessed me with.” He took several more ragged breaths, touched his chest with a palm, and examined the bloodstain that was left behind. “I only need a moment to recover; that’s all I ask.”

An eager grin spread across Elganon’s lips unexpectedly. “Take all the time you need. We can wait.”

Elganon was…full of surprises.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Treat me like there's no Hell."
> 
> Recommended Listening: Clean Up in Aisle Sexy by Bloodhound Gang


	10. Imperfections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astarion was used to people lusting after him, but never admiring him genuinely since he knew he didn't deserve it. Since when did he ever struggle to take a compliment when it was given?

A butterfly flew above Elganon’s head, fluttering around it before finally landing in his hair, flapping its wings delicately. It made the teary-eyed young half-elf smile sweetly while he sipped from his teacup. 

As far as he knew, butterflies were not native to the demonic realm, the Abyss—at least, they shouldn’t appear so similar to those in the mortal realm of Faerûn, but why should he question it? It was lovely to see something familiar in this strange, ethereal garden, and he feared that if he questioned it too much, it might go away. Why ruin a good thing?

His bright emerald eyes then wandered to the expertly taxidermized animals that were perched like statues in various corners of the garden. It was sad to know that they were no longer alive, but it brought him some comfort to see that they at least had the prime of their lives preserved eternally in time. They would never grow old or weak, but instead would pose forever triumphant, their majesty and youth captured perfectly. It was enviable, really.

These trophies belonged, of course, to the warlock’s demonic patron, Murmyr, who’d gotten up from the tea table to stretch his gangly legs that ended in tiny cloven hooves. He moved about the garden more gracefully than his limbs should have allowed, like a specter haunting the night, with his four arms held behind his back while he observed his prized possessions. 

Elganon had never actually seen him in the act, but the demon himself had told him he was quite the huntsman—or hunts _lamb_ , rather, since he had the visage of a shorn sheep in many regards. It had to have been true, given all of his décor, and the fact that he frequently would be seen in an everchanging variety of fur garments each time they met in this otherworldly realm of his.

As a lover of animals, it always pained the half-elf to see the poor creatures hurt, but at the same time, he had a peculiar interest in life and death in general. Morbid fascinations, one could say. He was raised by two necromancers, after all.

Murmyr finally turned back to Elganon after thoroughly considering the information that his servant had exchanged with him earlier, regarding his current affairs in the mortal realm. A slender clawed finger scratched underneath his chin ponderously. “So, the tieflings want to go to Baldur’s Gate?” He chuckled, finding some irony in that, since Elganon wanted so desperately to leave the city in question not long ago, and even succeeded for a time, until he was abducted by mind flayers. Now, it seemed they were going right back where they started. But that was alright—that suited the demon’s plans perfectly. “Ensure that they get there.”

Elganon exhaled a sigh of relief when he set his cup on the table, cradling the porcelain in his palms. “Really? Here I thought you were going to ask me to side with the goblins,” he replied with a timid titter, imagined burden disappearing from his previously slumped shoulders.

The demon lord tapped at the glass eye of one of the taxidermized beasts, his thin animalistic lips pulled into a vicious smirk as he acknowledged the thing like he had a personal vendetta against it in life. “You know I have a soft spot for the downtrodden, being the self-appointed Lord of Wretches.” He made a waving gesture with a hand at Elganon. “Like yourself.”

The half-elf didn’t take any offense to the remark. He was a wretch—it was true. He grew up poor in the Lower City all of his life, and it wasn’t until the demon appeared that things got any better. He owed everything to the malevolently benevolent creature—most of all, his soul.

“You’re very merciful, my lord,” Elganon said, bringing his drink back up to his mouth to veil his slight insecure frown. “But… I have to admit, I’m afraid to face the drow and her goblin horde.”

Murmyr trotted over to his minion, his hooves so nimble that they barely made a sound when they touched the grass—if they even were treading upon the ground at all—and laid a thin hand upon the warlock’s head. “Don’t forget that you have me and your new little “friends” at your back. However, you might also consider luring the enemy directly to the grove to give yourself an edge against them.”

Elganon seemed uncertain about the proposition. “But that’ll endanger the tieflings.” That wouldn’t bother him so much if he knew that they could fight. As it stood, they were so borderline helpless that when one of the adults among them asked him to give the children a few words of inspiration, his conscience compelled him to tell them the harsh truth: That chances were, if the goblins came back, they were all going to die.

“You can’t save everyone, little one,” said the demon, circling around the table to sit down in his usual chair and pour himself another cup of tea. “Some wretches, like you, can pull themselves out of the hole they were born into. Some allow themselves to be buried alive within it. Such is the way of life.” And with that, he dropped a square lump of sugar into his cup, then took a drink. He caught the wet cube, before it melted, between his teeth, and smacked at it with his ovine lips.

“I suppose you’re right…” The half-elf picked up the sweet tart on his plate, turning it in his fingers disinterestedly, then set it back down, rolling it around as he lost himself in dwelling on his growing guilt.

Murmyr smiled toothily and crushed the sugar cube with his teeth, swallowing it up before saying, “Oh, precious doll, don’t pretend to weep for them. I know your heart. You and yours come first, and for everyone else who can’t make it in life, that’s too bad. That’s a natural way to think.” He tapped the side of his head. “A smart way to think. Don’t feel so guilty about it.”

Elganon barely looked up from his plate. “It just feels wrong sometimes, you know? I wish I _did_ have more compassion for others. I can empathize with them. Understand how they feel. I just don’t care most of the time.” He went back to playing with his food.

His master propped one elbow against the table and rested his jaw in his hand. He ran a finger around the rim of his teacup. “You had compassion for the vampire spawn before you came to know him, didn’t you?”

The question only made the half-elf slouch and knit his eyebrows together sadly. The demon knew why.

“Although, I suppose that was in a sense selfish as well. I knew you were in love with him since the day he tackled you on the beach and held you at knife point. You refused to let me incinerate him. Even with the looming threat of death from a total stranger, you wanted to be held in his arms.” Murmyr peeled back the lids of two of his six eyes to make them appear larger. “To gaze into his pretty red eyes, and never look away!” He cackled at the memory—the sensation of how the warlock felt in that moment.

Elganon didn’t appreciate that his master was teasing him, and so the demon stopped, leaning forward to place a comforting hand over the half-elf’s. “But don’t forget,” Murmyr said, “he still belongs to someone else, regardless of what he may tell himself.”

Cazador. Murmyr was speaking of Cazador, Astarion’s vampiric master.

“You’ll help me free Astarion, won’t you, my lord?” asked the warlock hopefully, eyes shimmering with the threat of tears in his plea.

Murmyr retracted his hand, steepling all four of them together as he gave a slight nod of his head. “ _If_ the opportunity presents itself, I don’t see why not. If he really is that important to you—”

“He is. I’ll do anything to help him. _Anything_ ,” Elganon replied, not meaning to cut his master off, but he was so desperate to make it clear how much the tormented vampire spawn meant to him. Thus far, Murmyr had been rather dismissive of the seriousness of Elganon’s feelings for the man, thinking it was puppy love. Truth be told, even though Elganon was in his early twenties, he’d never fallen in love before. Astarion was his first love.

Murmyr’s expression became serious as he held the fingers of two of his hands to his downturned lips. “I see…”

There was a distant sound, coming from outside of the realm, of feet trapsing through autumn leaves. It made the demon’s ears twitch. “It seems that someone is looking for you, little doll. You’d best wake up and see who it is. I expect that it’s your new…fancy.” His nostrils flared in a displeased manner as the scenery of the garden began to fade for Elganon, and the warlock’s eyes rolled back to the front of his head.

Exactly as Murmyr predicted, it was Astarion, who apparently hadn’t expected to run into Elganon out here in the middle of the forest. He stopped right in his tracks as their eyes met. Blood was coating his mouth, giving the vampire a bestial appearance that was unbecoming of his noble birth. Aware of this fact, Astarion wiped his mouth clean with the back of his sleeve, dreading to stain his clothing, but dreading _more_ the thought of staining his already tarnished reputation further, even in front of a peasant like Elganon.

“Darling! What brings you all the way out here at this hour?” Astarion shifted uncomfortably, doing his best to act natural, but he felt horribly embarrassed to have been seen looking like a complete animal out here in the wilderness.

Elganon was also trying to make the moment less awkward, but not doing much better at it. “Oh, I was…meditating on a few things.”

“Talking to your demon friend, you mean,” Astarion corrected him.

In a way, it was oddly liberating that less and less was becoming secretive between them. Not always by choice, but nevertheless, it was good to have someone to confide in about the…darker aspects of their lives that few others accepted, let alone understood.

“If you must know, yes,” Elganon confessed with a sigh. He got up from the patch of grass he was sitting on and moved closer to Astarion. He licked his own thumb, then used it to clean the corners of the vampire’s mouth where streaks of blood still lingered. The sweet gesture made Astarion very bashful in a way that he typically never expressed, but he allowed his lover to do it.

“A-Ah, thank you, dear,” the vampiric elf murmured, averting his gaze away from Elganon’s loving eyes. He still wasn’t used to being looked at that way. 

People had often gawked at him with lust, and it was easy to find enjoyment in that. To be seen with _love_ , however… That was a different story. He didn’t know how to cope with _that_. He never had the reputation of being a very likable person beneath his superficial charms, in life and in undeath. As a magistrate, he was a heartless bastard. As a vampire, he was…more or less the same, if not worse, and Cazador’s ill treatment of him barely humbled him at all. What was there to love, really?

“Astarion?”

“Hm?” The vampire spawn finally found it within himself to look Elganon in the eye again, if only to acknowledge his question.

“Is something the matter? You seem sad.”

_I’m a vampire, dear. We’re always sad_. That was what he thought, but not what he said aloud. Thankfully, Elganon didn’t think to pry into his mind to hear the truth.

“I’m just cold out here,” was the poor excuse Astarion actually blurted out, clutching his elbows and shivering. It was a ruse, but he hoped it was convincing enough and that the warlock wouldn’t know any better.

He did get suspicious of it, at the very least. “You’re cold?”

In all fairness, that was what the blood drinking was more than likely about, wasn’t it? An eternal need for warmth—to have some connection with their past lives, when they actually yet lived. That’s what Cazador had told Astarion, at any rate. He may have lied. He was always trying to get inside Astarion’s head and make him into even more of a confused mess than he already was.

“It’s pretty warm out tonight to me,” Elganon said with a puzzled tone, perhaps figuring that undeath must have made Astarion even colder. “I guess that makes sense, though. My uncle has a friend that swears his bone marrow gets very chilly in the autumn and winter, and he has to be wrapped up in a blanket before he’ll stop chattering his teeth all dramatically.”

Astarion raised a platinum blonde eyebrow quizzically. “Is his friend a vampire?”

Elganon considered for a moment if he should tell the truth. “N-No, he’s… Well, he’s a skull.”

Right. Of course. Elganon was friends with squirrels and oxen, and now with talking skulls as well. That made sense. He _did_ mention that he talked not only to demons and animals, but the dead as well. As strange as the half-elf was, Astarion supposed he was the ideal person to have as a confidant besides another vampire. Actually, it was better off that Elganon _wasn’t_ a fellow vampire, since vampires rarely ever got along—even spawns like himself.

“Let’s get you back to my tent. I have a blanket in there, and you’re more than welcome to use it,” the warlock offered with a small smile, extending a hand towards Astarion’s.

The vampire clutched the delicate fingers in his own, entwining them together. “You’re so very thoughtful of me,” he said breathlessly with genuine affection.

“I think about you a lot,” Elganon admitted, ironically without thinking the words over before they came out. “It’s hard not to.” His pointed ears turned pink.

Astarion chuckled, using a finger from his other hand to brush strands of black hair behind the man’s ear to feel the warmth of his tender skin. He pressed his lips to the exposed ear and murmured in a husky voice, “I hope it’s mostly dirty things that you think about me… _lover_.”

Elganon squeezed Astarion’s hand so hard that his own knuckles were turning white, while the vampire was completely unfazed by the applied pressure. The warlock’s grip wasn’t particularly strong—not enough to cause pain, anyway. “S…Sometimes.”

“Oh?” the elf purred. “You’ll have to tell me all about your fantasies sometime. Perhaps I can make them a reality.”

The half-elf started trudging forward in the leaves, dragging Astarion along with him by the hand and clearly finding it difficult to walk straight due to his…sudden excitement. “Okay, let’s get back to camp while there’s still plenty of moonlight!” Elganon said in a high-pitched tone that made Astarion burst into laughter.

They were making good ground in their journey back until they reached a stream that Astarion hadn’t recalled coming across when he was wandering the forest in his nightly hunt for blood. He must have come from an entirely different direction. 

Honestly, the vampire wasn’t even sure how he always managed to find his way back to camp without getting too lost. He was a city person, not some great outdoorsman. Everything was all the same out here to him—trees and rocks and dirt in all directions, and it was horribly confusing.

“Let’s go another way,” Astarion insisted anxiously, tugging at Elganon’s arm.

“It looks like this stream carries on for quite a distance,” Elganon pointed out. “If we go around, it could take us another hour to get back to camp…”

The haughty elf sneered at him petulantly. “So? What’s another hour?”

Elganon frowned at Astarion disappointedly. “To you that might not be much, since you don’t even have to sleep, but I’m exhausted, Astarion! I’d like to get some rest before sunrise, and I don’t want my legs to already be sore by the time we have to get moving again in the morning…”

“I’m _not_ crossing that stream—it’ll burn,” Astarion contended, ready to leave the half-elf behind if he had to. There was absolutely no way he was going to—

“I’ll carry you.”

“What?”

“If you’re really that afraid of the water, I’ll carry you.”

“Dear, you can barely carry your own bags. How do you expect to carry _me_ across that river?”

“It’s not that wide, and the current’s not that strong. I can handle it, surely.”

Astarion doubted that, but he also didn’t want to spend another hour or three trying to blindly fumble his way back to camp any more than his partner did. Admittedly, with Elganon guiding him, he was getting around a lot faster than he normally did on his own out here.

Elganon held out his hands like he was reaching for a baby, and with a heavy sigh, Astarion climbed into his arms carefully, allowing himself to be held like a blushing bride in the shorter man’s arms. The half-elf’s slender arms trembled, making the vampire panic a little, but he managed to still them and proceeded to cross the river, going slow and holding his lover as tightly as possible.

Even at Elganon’s small stature, the water only came up to about his thighs, so barely a drop splashed Astarion’s clothes, let alone his skin. Still, there was the looming danger of being dropped into the rushing water below. Halfway through the body of water, the warlock’s arms were shaking again, and Astarion tightened his arms around the man’s thin neck in fear.

“I won’t drop you,” Elganon promised, locking eyes with him. He was telling himself this just as much as he was assuring Astarion, and that seemed to give him the strength to keep going. His love for the vampire would embolden his frail body to do the undoable.

Astarion nodded his head at the half-elf, and he craned his neck to kiss him on the mouth to show his gratitude and hopefully empower the weak man. One hand caressed the young warlock’s cheek, while the other petted the back of his neck. By the time he pulled away, they had arrived at the other side of the river, and upon putting one foot on dry land, Elganon’s legs gave out. Astarion rolled his body quickly, ensuring that he was the first to hit the ground, and caught his lover in his arms. Now it was his turn to be the savior.

The vampire’s lips formed a smile as he held the man close to his chest. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, kissing Elganon on the forehead as he curled up next to him in the grass.

Elganon panted in exhaustion, leaning into his beloved with sweat rolling down his face. Carrying Astarion was harder than he thought it was going to be, and he was amazed he managed to do it for as long as he did. He wanted to pass out right then and there, but he fought to stay awake. “I’m sorry—”

“Nonsense. You got me across without a single burn from the running water, and that’s all that matters,” Astarion reassured him, draping a leg across the half-elf’s thigh protectively.

“But I still have to get us back to camp,” Elganon reminded him in between heady breaths.

“Actually, it’s a bit warmer out here,” Astarion said, peering up at the stars in the night sky between the trees. “We could rest here for tonight if you wish. I’ll watch over you when you fall asleep.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. It’s no trouble.”

Elganon scooted further up the vampire’s body until they were at eye-level with each other, laying against his chest while tracing the fraying embroidery of his doublet with his fingers. “You’re kinder than you let on.”

Astarion scoffed. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” his partner argued gently. The more Elganon stared at his face, the more distracted he became by other thoughts. “…Has anyone ever told you how pretty your freckles are?”

The spontaneous question caught the vampire off guard, painting shock on his pale face. “I didn’t think anyone ever noticed them much, really,” he confessed, fluffing his intentionally wild fair hair with a hand bashfully.

“I especially like this one,” Elganon said, poking the darkest one on his cheek affectionately. “It’s my favorite.”

What a silly little thing to fawn over, of all things, thought Astarion. “What else do you like about me?”

“Well…” The warlock didn’t even know where to begin, but he traced a finger underneath one of Astarion’s eyes. “I like the dark lines underneath your eyes.”

Shaking his head, Astarion made an irritable sound. “Thanks for making me feel _old_. What a compliment!”

Elganon laughed. “I mean it! I love your eyes, even the things about them that some people might perceive as a flaw!”

“Would you like to point out my _other_ wrinkles as well, while you’re at it?” Astarion turned his nose up in a pout.

“Can I?” his lover asked sincerely, very eager to since he was dearly fond of every little blemish. Elganon was a strange person, so it was no surprise that he found beauty in the strangest of things.

“ _Oh Gods, please don’t_ ,” Astarion begged. He never wanted to admit it, but deep down, he was _extremely_ jealous of Elganon’s youthfulness. He wished he had been bitten at his age instead, if he must be cursed with vampirism at all. Part of him was eager to see the day when Elganon got his first wrinkle. It’d make him feel slightly less insecure.

And yet, despite his pleas, the half-elf was running a finger along the faint folds in the skin on either side of the vampire’s mouth, then he went up and around his brow and across his forehead. “You’re so handsome, Astarion.”

The vampire snorted derisively, even as his jaw was cupped in his lover’s hands and his lips were given a peck. “Eugh. I don’t know who your father is or if you even have one, but perhaps you merely have _daddy issues_.” Being reminded of his own age wasn’t exactly how he expected to be wooed here.

“I’m being serious. If you were totally perfect-looking, you’d just be…” Elganon frowned deeply, as if very troubled by the thought crossing his mind. “You’d just be a doll, and not a real person.”

“You must be a doll, then,” Astarion snapped jealously. When he saw how much his tone of voice broke his lover’s heart, pushing him to tears, his expression softened. “…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get snippy with you, Elganon. I know you meant well.” He hugged the warlock tightly, patting his back until he stopped weeping.

Elganon sniffled, smearing the running mascara on his face further when he wiped his eyes dry. “You’re perfect to me, Astarion. You really are. I love you. Flaws and all.”

No one had ever said anything like that to him before…

In fact, one of the last comments Astarion recalled overhearing about his character on the day he was beaten nearly to death in the streets for a judgment he’d handed down as a magistrate was: “Ugly on the inside, beautiful on the outside, but growing uglier both ways by the day. Maybe there _is_ justice in the world, after all. Serves the pompous arse right.”

And that was from one of his colleagues who he… _thought_ respected him. Apparently, no one did. They only pretended to when they thought he was in earshot.

That was why there was a fleeting moment when he laid there bleeding out on the cobblestone where he thought to himself: _Maybe I would be better off dead._

But of course, he was too cowardly to let himself die. Even if the whole world hated him, and rightfully so. He was a bastard through and through for his entire life, and it was a bed he laid in restfully up until his final day alive.

He then thought about all the weird things that Elganon did that got on his nerves, and sometimes forced him to yell at the man when his bizarre behavior crossed the line from amusing to frustrating. Did Elganon ever feel equally as unliked by everyone else, too?

“I love you, too, my dear.” Astarion brought their faces together and nuzzled against his beloved’s dark black hair. “Flaws and all.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You should know you're beautiful just the way you are. And you don't have to change a thing, the world could change its heart."
> 
> Recommended Listening: Scars to Your Beautiful by Alessia Cara


	11. The Pale Elf and the White Snake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astarion gets it in his head that he's going to visit the realm of his lover's demonic patron. He really ought to learn to leave well enough alone by now.

There Astarion was clutching the drawing of his lover Elganon and the half-elf’s demon patron, staring at it intently as he descended the winding staircase of the enchanted tower that he’d taken up residence in along with his partner. He didn’t think that Elganon might try to throw away this childhood drawing since apparently he held onto everything of sentimental value that he could over the years, but he was afraid that the warlock would try to hide it if Astarion didn’t sneak off with it now, lest he never find it again. It was the only proof he had of what Elganon’s patron looked like. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was _something_.

Astarion stopped when he reached what he was fairly certain was the floor he was searching for. The cramped tower was a lot larger than it seemed when he first arrived there. It was large enough to the point where he rarely ever bumped into his party members by chance, unless they had opted to gather in the shop area on the ground level. He also hardly saw the hired guards that patrolled the building, although that had more to do with the fact that they were unnervingly stealthy, until trouble came knocking. At any rate, he hoped that he was in the right hallway knocking at the correct door, otherwise he’d be embarrassing himself more than he intended to.

He was relieved to see Wyll answer the door, despite the fact that it seemed his presence wasn’t particularly expected nor desired. At least that wasn’t new to Astarion at this point. The vampire spawn came to accept that his adventuring group wasn’t all that fond of him; he didn’t care for them, either. Well…except for one person—the one who made the drawing he held carefully in his hand.

“Can I…help you with something, mate?” Wyll asked warily, keeping the door at just a small crack. It was clear that he was expressly trying not to give Astarion the impression that he was being invited into his room, not that Astarion _needed_ an invitation to barge into people’s living quarters whenever he wanted, thanks to the Illithid tadpole wriggling in his skull and granting him the ability to subvert most of the downsides of vampirism. But Astarion would humor the poor human and let him pretend that he had any safety here.

“Sorry to bother you,” Astarion lied in a put-on cordial voice. “I just thought that perhaps you could help me with something. You’re a warlock, same as my…dearest friend Elganon.”

Wyll snickered. “You don’t have to beat around the bush. Everyone knows you’re shaggin’, so…you can just say “lover”.”

Astarion, shockingly, found himself blushing. He nodded his head and uttered, “Right. My lover. Anyway, I’m ashamed to admit this, given my age, but I have to confess that you would know more about patrons and their pacts and such than I would. I wondered if you could answer a few questions I have. Do you know much about demons in particular?”

“Can’t say I do,” the human warlock admitted, no more interested in opening the door than he was moments ago. He was simply not coming out of his room when it would be only himself and the vampire in the same hallway. Wyll was a perfectly capable monster hunter, but if it came down to him having to deal with this monster, should he try something funny, he’d no doubt be out of a place to stay, since this was Elganon’s home. “My patron’s a devil. Some people confuse demons and devils, but they’re worlds apart. Bitter enemies. But all that aside, I hardly even understand _my_ patron, let alone someone else’s. I take it this isn’t something you can just ask Elg himself about, eh?”

“He doesn’t like when I pry about his master,” Astarion grumbled defeatedly. He was also getting offended by how skittish Wyll was being around him. It wasn’t as if he ever tried to bite him! As far as Wyll knew, at least. It annoyed Astarion to think that his party only saw him as a rabid dog waiting to break off his leash at any given moment and tear each and every one of their throats out. If they kept this kind of behavior up, he just might, if given the chance. Surely Elganon would forgive him and understand his motivations, right?

“Ah. I figured as much.” Wyll frowned, rolling his shoulders uncomfortably. “Well, you could try asking Gale. He knows a lot about all sorts of stuff. Taught me a few things. Tends to ramble a bit, though. Good man, though, that wizard.” The warlock nodded his head towards the end of the hall. “He’s a couple doors down from me, on the left. Careful when you knock, though. He might be in some kind of…”wizard state”, or whatever it is they do when they get into their lengthy incantations. Doesn’t like to be bothered when he’s in the zone like that.”

“Duly noted,” Astarion replied, suppressing his irritability only barely. He was always a temperamental person by nature, but his upbringing as a noble and his adulthood spent working in law taught him how to stamp those feelings down to an impressive degree (considering how intense his anger often got) for the most part. “Thank you for your time.”

The moment he stepped away from the door, it was closed immediately. Rude, but not unexpected. The vampire then moved down the hallway and very slowly rapped on the door he believed to be Gale’s. It took longer for the wizard to answer, but he did eventually and gave Astarion a perplexed frown.

“Astarion? Why were you knocking like that?” he asked when he flung the door open all the way. Unlike Wyll, he didn’t bother to take any apparent safety precautions when dealing with the pale elf. He was either well aware that Astarion would do as he liked, or he must have figured the fact that he was a living magical time bomb would be enough of a deterrent from the vampire doing anything stupid.

“Uh…I didn’t want to disrupt your “wizard state”,” Astarion explained, causing the spellcaster to laugh heartily.

“Wizard state? What in Hells are you on about, man? I’m just drinking wine. Come in.” He waved a hand for Astarion to follow, then went back into his room. He wasn’t inviting the elf inside because he _liked_ him. Gale thought he was beyond despicable. Rather, he was very interested in whatever it was the rogue was up to. Whatever it was, it had to be entertaining at the very least.

“I don’t suppose I could sample some of your wine?” the vampire ventured to ask as he followed the human wizard inside. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, after all.

“Better my wine than my blood,” Gale confessed as he went to pour the man a glass. “Although, I’m usually pretty reluctant to part with either.” He handed the full cup over to Astarion graciously. “Keep that in mind before you ask me for whatever favor it is that you’re about to request.”

Astarion almost had the rim of the cup up to his lips when that last statement gave him pause. “How did you know I came here to ask for a favor? You’re not communicating telepathically with Wyll now, are you? Using the worms in our brains?”

Gale chuckled and shook his head. “No. I’m just not an idiot. You wouldn’t be coming around me just to have polite conversation for its own sake.”

“Why, I’m hurt,” Astarion replied, feigning heartbreak for a moment before “soothing” himself with a long drink of wine. It was…passable. Barely. Too tart and not enough body, in his opinion. He’d turn it away if it wasn’t his only option at the moment. “But you’re right—I _am_ here to ask for a favor.” He passed the drawing in his other hand along to Gale.

The wizard held the drawing up to his eyes, squinting at the messy details on the paper. “What’s this? Why are you showing me a child’s drawing? Don’t tell me that you have children you never told any of us about. I wouldn’t be surprised, but—”

The vampire sighed exaggeratedly. “Look at the boy in the image. Who does he remind you of?”

Gale glanced at the drawing again. “Is that Elganon as a child?”

Now the wizard was getting it. “Precisely,” said Astarion with a small smirk, rewarding himself with another sip of wine.

“And the other creature, I presume, is his patron.” Gale wasn’t sure where this was going exactly, but he was a little worried.

“Do you know what kind of demon that is?” asked Astarion. “Wyll said that you knew a lot about these sorts of things.”

“It looks like a…” Gale didn’t answer right away. He wanted to be a bit more confident in his estimation first, so he took his time at eyeing the creature in the drawing. “Can’t be.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Well, it’s just that… I can’t imagine anyone having a _bulezau_ as a patron. They’re fairly weak, as far as demons go. Dumb as a bag of rocks, too, but also hit as hard as one,” Gale explained, sipping at his own glass of wine as he pondered over the artwork.

“Elganon tells me that his patron is very clever,” Astarion remembered, and he didn’t think that his lover was an idiot. Naïve, yes, but not stupid. Elganon was certainly more intelligent than he himself was, as much as he was loathe to admit that. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“I’m almost positive that’s what this creature is,” said the wizard with a conclusive bob of his head. “Mind you, it may have come across some means to enhance its intellect. An artefact of some kind, perhaps.” Gale would like to procure such an item if that was what granted the creature enough power to raise to the rank of demon lord…

“Sounds plausible,” Astarion agreed, only because he was sure that the wizard knew what he was talking about. “And if I wanted to find this creature—this patron—how would I go about doing that without having to make a pact with it first?”

Gale’s lightly tanned face lost some of its color at what the elf was probably suggesting here. “Astarion, whatever it is you’re thinking of doing, I would recommend that you take that idea, and toss it straight into the bin. Forget it.”

But Astarion was persistent; once he got his mind set on something, it was difficult to throw him off the path. “You said that it ought to be a weak creature, yes? I should kill it before it gets stronger. Besides, don’t you think it would be good practice before I go off to slay my own master?” He grinned at his fiendish idea, thinking it clever.

“You don’t understand. Your vampire lord is small potatoes compared to a demon lord of any kind,” Gale warned him, setting the drawing down on his study desk between the pages of an open book.

The elf rolled his scarlet eyes sardonically, full of doubt. “It’s a little sheep-thing, Gale. I think I can handle it. Just get me to the creature’s realm. You can do that, can’t you? Or are you not so all-powerful?”

“Never claimed to be,” Gale retorted, frowning. “But it’s your funeral. Second one, at any rate.” He held up two fingers for flare. “Using this drawing you’ve brought me to divine the layer of the Abyss it lays claim to, I can get you there and get you back, but I’ll have to stay here to keep the portal open. And I’m not letting you drag anyone else along for this arrogant little suicide mission of yours.”

“I’m better at working solo, anyway,” Astarion snapped haughtily, one hand on his hip while the other clutched the stem of his wine glass tightly. He finished off the drink with one final gulp, then slammed the base down against the desk. It was surprising that it didn’t break.

The wizard rubbed his forehead, dreading this arrangement already. “Suit yourself. It’ll take a few hours of preparation and I’ll regretfully have to ask you to…procure a few reagents from downstairs, but other than that, let’s get started while the day is still young.”

Astarion came across as suddenly cautious of Gale’s eagerness to aid him. “Wait, what’s the catch for you helping me with this?”

“Whatever’s empowering the demon, I want you to bring it back to me. Failing that, any magical item it may have there will do,” Gale answered truthfully. “It’s been a time since I last consumed the power of something enchanted, and if we don’t keep this bomb inside of me fed, well…” He placed his cup next to Astarion’s, then made an exploding motion with his hands.

“Fair enough.” Astarion extended a hand towards the wizard. “Deal.”

Gale shook the vampire’s cold hand and grinned. “I’m glad we have an understanding, then. And may this be the last time we conspire on anything together. I don’t want this to become a regular thing between us.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, trust me,” Astarion said with a sneer.

And so, the bargain was struck. They got to work on the project immediately.

* * *

Once the ominous swirling portal was actually staring him in the face, Astarion wasn’t so sure he wanted to do this anymore. His feet wanted to instinctively take him in the opposite direction, but he knew it was too late to back out now. “Are you sure I’ll make it to the other side in one piece?”

“Mostly sure,” Gale said, trying not to grin too much as he focused on keeping the small gateway to the Abyss open, but not so much so that it would draw the attention of any demons looking to get out. “Go on. We don’t have all day. What, do you want the tower to be swarming in demons? Because that’s what we’ll have on our hands if you don’t get on with this.”

Astarion danced on his tiptoes anxiously, preparing himself to jump. “Alright, alright, I’m going!” Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath—not that he needed to hold his breath anymore—he leaped right in.

When his eyes were opened again, Astarion was definitely where he needed to be, but it was in no way the peaceful ethereal realm that Elganon had described to him. It was a nightmare made manifest.

The air was rancid with the stink of decay and dead foliage, and the atmosphere was shrouded in a dark mist that even his supernatural vision could barely cut through. Taking a few steps forward, he heard a wet sound underneath his boot that he was reluctant to check on. Lifting his shoe, he saw that he’d just crushed the ribcage of a particularly ripe corpse. It made him want to vomit, but he managed to resist. Even after all these years of being a vampire, some morbidities were still too disgusting even for him.

Finding the will to keep moving forward, he saw pile after pile of more and more bodies. Bodies of all kinds. Mortals, demons, devils. Where they all came from was anyone’s guess, but there they were, serving as compost for this wretched garden. That’s what this was supposed to be, wasn’t it? A garden? Plants grew here all around. Wicked things. Full of thorns and nettles, and thick with venom, no doubt. Strewn body parts were even impaled on some of the larger thorns. Hands, legs, ripped-off faces. It was barbaric. Astarion had seen some vicious things in his time, but nothing this horrifying.

The more he looked around, the worse it got. Some of the bodies, the important ones, were stuffed and put on display. They must have belonged to the owner of this realm’s greatest competitors that it had managed to defeat thus far, and now they were relegated to a fate worse than death: eternal humiliation.

At the center of it all was a massive tea table, stocked with fetid offerings and chipped porcelain cups and plates settled around a ripped tablecloth and crooked tall chairs. How morbidly quaint. It was the nicest thing here, and it was still utterly terrible. He went to go examine the dead flowers woven around the furniture and scattered along the table, finding them oddly familiar somehow. 

Out from underneath one cluster of dead flowers slithered a massive white snake that peered up at him with narrowed intelligent predatory eyes that were just as crimson as his own. Indeed, it even looked a little like him, he thought. If he were born an animal, Astarion might have been a snake. A troubling idea, but a notion that crossed his mind, nonetheless.

“Run,” it spoke, lapping its forked tongue at the stale air. “Before the massster of thisss realm returnsss from hisss hunt…”

Astarion’s eyelashes fluttered in surprise. “I can understand you!”

* * *

* * *

“I am no mere animal,” said the snake. “I’m a familiar.”

“And to whom do you belong? The demon?” the vampire asked, bending towards the creature curiously.

“He keepsss me asss hisss prisssoner now, but he isss not my massster.” The serpent coiled around the teapot and reared up to get a better look at the elf’s face. “I know of you. You’re Assstarion. The demon’sss “little doll” isss quite fond of you. Ssspeaksss of you often.”

Little doll? Was the snake referring to Elganon? “That I am. And you are…?”

“Charming.”

Astarion smiled in a flattered way. “Why, thank you.”

“Charming isss my name,” the snake said flatly.

The vampire’s pride deflated a little, and he touched his fluffy hair distractedly. “Ah… Charmed, I’m sure.”

“Funny.” Charming pointed at the elf with his tail. “But now isss not the time for humor. We mussst leave. Now.”

Astarion chuckled. “We?”

“Take me with you,” the snake implored.

“Why should I? What’s in it for me?”

The serpent seemed to smile deviously. “A friend.”

That didn’t tempt the vampire in the slightest. “I don’t have much need for those.”

Charming corrected himself. “A _powerful_ friend.”

Now _that_ got Astarion’s attention. “Well, why didn’t you say so?” The elf held his arm out to allow the snake to wind its way around it and finally settle around his shoulders like a feather boa. He must have looked quite stylish. He wasn’t the sort to keep pets, but he could get used to this.

As the snake made itself comfortable on Astarion’s shoulders, it commented, “Not very warm, but you’ll do. You’re asss cold-blooded asss I am.”

Astarion scowled at the perceived insult. “Don’t test me, snake. I haven’t turned my back _completely_ from feeding on animals.”

If the vampire’s heart wasn’t stopped already by undeath, it surely would have paused the moment a door that seemingly came out of nowhere was flung open. He hid under the table, peering out from behind the tattered tablecloth that was thankfully long enough to shroud him from the beast that now trapsed through the sickly garden.

The thing was massive. More so than how it appeared in the drawing. It either had grown over time as it amassed power, or Elganon was a stupid child with no sense of proportion. Either way, the spindly sheep-like demon was lumbering around as if it sensed a foreign presence.

“Little doll?” it called out in an unnerving, yet almost hypnotic voice. “Is that you? Oh, how you so love your games. Very well, I shall humor you.” The demon pulled back its ovine lips in a dreadful smile.

As it came nearer, Astarion could see it more clearly in all of its terrible wonder through the fog. It was skinned alive and dripping with blood, but not merely its own, for upon its withered hunched back, it wore the pelt of a wolf-like demon to shield itself from the unnatural chill of this dark realm. All four of its thin spidery arms turned over rocks and corpses lying around the garden, and the six orange-gold eyes searched everywhere for some clue of its companion’s whereabouts. Its tiny cloven hooves barely tread upon the dead grass, making not a sound, and its three whip-like tails that ended in pointed barbs that could be easily mistaken for tufts of fur swished about imposingly.

Astarion was glad that he saw it before it saw him, otherwise he never would have seen it coming at all, if he were caught unaware. While the beast was distracted, he slipped out from underneath the table and started heading for the portal he’d come from, thankful that it was obscured well enough to go yet unnoticed by the monster. He remembered that Gale made him promise to bring him back something magical from this place, but Astarion wasn’t going to take his chances after having seen the demon with his own two eyes. Maybe he would accept the talking snake— _it_ seemed magical.

“Where are you, my lugubrious prince? Come out, now,” cooed the demon lord, clearly growing impatient with what he thought was some kind of game. Losing his temper, he turned over the chairs, ripped off the tablecloth along with everything on it, then flipped the table. It sailed in Astarion’s direction, nearly landing right on top of him and the snake coiled around his shoulders. “Elganon? Elganon?!?”

The last thing the vampire heard as he hopped back through the portal was a guttural roar that trembled the abyssal plane. He was glad to be gone from that horrible place, and he never intended on going back.

* * *

Astarion didn’t recall fainting when he exited the portal, but he didn’t come to for some time. Gale was snapping his fingers in his face and slapping him when he finally regained consciousness. “Get your hands off of me, you _imbecile_!” the vampire snapped at the wizard, making the human jump back to avoid having his fingers bitten off.

“I told you he wasssn’t dead,” said the white snake proudly, who was now curled around the leg of the desk in Gale’s bedroom.

“Unfortunately,” muttered Gale. Apparently, he and Charming had been getting along quite swimmingly as they waited on the vampire to come to his senses. And here Astarion expected that the wizard would be draining the familiar of his power. A pity that he didn’t. “So, I take it that you couldn’t manage to slay the demon, hm?” Gale was all too smug about his suspicion, knowing that he was correct.

“I didn’t expect it to be so…large,” Astarion confessed, slowly getting to his feet with a cough. His dagger fell from its holster and clattered onto the floor, requiring him to lean over to pick it back up again. He was a disheveled wreck with brambles in his tangled hair and rips in his clothing from scrambling through thorny brush to get to the portal.

“Told you so,” Gale replied mockingly with folded arms. “I’m a bit disappointed that you didn’t do as I asked, unless you meant to bring me the snake as an offering. He’s too, well…Charming to consume, though, so I think I’ll let you keep him.”

“What? I don’t want him,” Astarion said with the wave of an arm, gawking at the snake, who was smirking at him mischievously and flicking its tongue.

Gale laughed, especially when the white snake slithered down the desk leg to slide up Astarion’s. “He seems to have taken a liking to you. I think you’re stuck with him now. Best of luck to the both of you.” He gave a smart salute with two fingers to his temple.

Before Astarion could protest any further, the snake was already at his ear, whispering to him. “Yesss, you remind me very much of my former massster. And sssince it’s not asss if I can return to him anytime sssoon, I think I ssshall ssstay upon your ssshouldersss, if it’sss all the sssame to you…”

This reminded the vampire of something he’d almost forgotten. “You never said who your master was, come to think of it.”

“I ssserved Elganon’sss father, when he yet lived,” the snake explained.

Astarion figured as much. The moment he saw the creature, images of the ornate chest Elganon showed him flashed through his mind, focusing on the depictions of coiled white serpents slithering around the lid. It was where Elganon’s powerful sorcerous father kept his most prized possessions from his adventuring days.

“I’m not a great spellcaster like your former master,” Astarion countered, hoping that would be some deterrent towards the serpent’s decision.

“Hmm, but you _are_ a high elf, are you not? You’re inherently magical by nature.” The snake coiled around his shoulders curiously, examining the vampire’s head. “You won’t make much of an Arcane Trickssster. More of a Sssmoothbrain Trickssster, perhapsss, but I will make do.”

Astarion clenched his jaw, taking exception to the remark. “Excuse me? What did you call me?”

The snake patted him on the head with its tail, chuckling with a slight hiss. “Not to worry, my massster wasssn’t “all that” when I firssst met him, either. I had to teach him, too…sssmoothbrain.”

The vampiric elf glared daggers down at the creature, but it hardly feared his wrath. Instead, it saw a kindred spirit. Familiarity.

Astarion’s company would suit Charming just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'm not the one who's so far away when I feel the snakebite enter my veins. Never did I wanna be here again, and I don't remember why I came."
> 
> Recommended Listening: Voodoo by Godsmack


	12. A Hot Summer's Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it can be very sweltering in the tower Elganon grew up in during the summer. Astarion is more than happy to help him cool down using his unique...condition.

* * *

* * *

“Astarion, I’m _hot_ ,” Elganon sighed, slumping his body dramatically and looking quite miserable seated at the edge of his bed in a loose-fitting shirt with his pantlegs rolled up to his knees. His tangled shoulder-length black hair stuck to the sweat on his pallid face that was tinted pink on the tip of his nose, his cheeks, and along his elven ears by the intense summer heat, and his eye makeup had melted into dark blotchy circles—more so than usual after one of his crying spells.

“Well, I’m sorry, dear, but I can’t control the weather.” Astarion threw his arms up, then landed a hand on Elganon’s shoulder, clapping it firmly as he sat down beside his lover. “It’s not all _that_ hot,” he insisted.

The mopey half-elf warlock’s head rested against the elven vampire’s chest with a pout on his full, pink lips. Astarion always wanted to kiss him when he made that face, but no doubt Elganon would fuss if his woes weren’t taken seriously. 

"You can’t tell the difference,” said the half-elf. “Your body’s unnaturally cold. You’re undead. Lucky you, on a day like this.”

“Aww,” Astarion tutted, rubbing Elganon’s shoulder. “You’ll survive. If you’re dying of heatstroke, it’s just the two of us here, you know. And it’s _your_ bedroom. Take your clothes off if you want. Get bare naked, for all I care.” He smirked coyly at his own suggestion. “I _prefer_ you like that, anyway.”

Elganon, not being in the mood due to how dreadful the temperature was, scoffed at the perverse advice. “I don’t want to have _sex_ right now, Astarion—”

“Who said anything about sex, pet?” Astarion interjected, feigning innocence.

“You _know_ it always leads to that. I can hardly take a bath in the same room without you foaming at the mouth.” Elganon couldn’t help but smile and giggle a little at that. Alright, so he did find pleasure in his partner’s perpetual lasciviousness. “Sex would just make matters worse. I don’t need to get any hotter than I already—”

Wait, he wouldn’t be getting _hotter_. Astarion’s skin was more or less an ice pack. If anything, having their naked bodies be so close together would be a boon in this situation. Without explaining himself, Elganon loosened the strings in his shirt, pulling it over his head to expose his slender chest.

“Changed your mind, I see,” Astarion noticed with a wolfish grin. He may as well follow suit himself, doing exactly as Elganon did. Then, instead of continuing to mimic his beloved, he hoped that they could assist each other with the removal of their clothing. Elganon didn’t get the picture at first.

“I can undress myself,” the half-elf grumbled petulantly when Astarion tugged at the waist of his pants while crawling onto his knees on the floor at the foot of the bed.

“I know, but I want to be the one to do it,” the vampire insisted as he bowed his head to take the front of the man’s trousers in his fangs to yank them down with alarming strength.

Elganon squeaked in surprise, but he was very much aroused by Astarion’s assertiveness and the animalistic growls he made as he put on his little performance. His bare thighs were kissed in a manner that made him immediately realize it was a prelude to having fangs sunken into them before Astarion had even pulled back his lips to reveal his pointed teeth. The vampire was stopped just short of biting one of those tender legs when the warlock made a desperate attempt to haul him back onto the bed where they laid down together on their sides.

“I’m hungry,” Astarion pouted, curling his fists against his beloved’s chest. “ _Feed me_.” It was only fair that Elganon did something for _him_ if Astarion was going to help him cool off.

The half-elf exhaled tiredly. He wasn’t sure he felt like being bitten today. The heat coupled with his poor mood made the old wounds from where the vampire had fed previously terribly sore. However, he did want to provide for the man whom he loved, even if it was going to probably sting more than usual as a result of his fatigue.

“Alright, but let me get your trousers off first,” Elganon agreed, leaning his head against Astarion’s shoulder so that he could peer down and see what he was doing when he fumbled with the elf’s belt. A cold hand caressed his neck lovingly, but there was an ulterior motive in the show of affection; the stroking digits were searching for the warmest patch of skin. Astarion’s fangs found their mark, piercing into the flesh while Elganon was still busy with the removal of his impatient lover’s pants.

Elganon cried out sharply and wrapped himself around Astarion, abandoning his task halfway through. The vampire’s chuckle vibrated in his throat as the feeding continued undeterred. Elganon was always ashamed of the fact that the slow and steady draining of his life essence made the blood flow travel not just out of his wound and into the elf’s mouth, but also further south to his nether regions. It excited him a little too much, when instead he should be afraid. But he trusted Astarion never to take it too far.

Meanwhile, Astarion wiggled his legs out of his pants that were already pulled down to his knees, knowing that Elganon wouldn’t mind if he finished undressing himself since the warlock was rather preoccupied. Elganon was grinding his length against Astarion’s muscular abdomen, panting with delight as he was fed upon wantonly. If only all of his humanoid meals reacted this way to his sanguine kiss.

Astarion had to completely part himself physically from his paramour to resist taking more blood than was safe. He was up from the bed now, strutting around it and over to the nightstand to fetch a bottle of lubricant, grinning at Elganon with crimson-stained fangs as he watched the warlock catch his breath in a daze. Elganon’s sparkling green eyes flitted around the room bewilderedly with a content smile, thoughts clouded by euphoria. His body remained very limp even by the time Astarion returned to him, lifting one of his legs to massage a couple of slickened fingers against the young half-elf’s tight entrance before worming them inside carefully.

The warlock’s head lolled, and he beamed brighter at the pale man looming above him, making an appreciative sound in response to his gentle administrations. He tried to prop himself up with his elbows, but he hadn’t the strength while in this dizzy spell of his. It was so adorable to watch him try that Astarion laughed fondly as his fingers continued to tickle around inside the constricted anus. He supposed that was part of why he adored Elganon so; the half-elf might not have been the most seasoned of lovers, but the way he melted like butter in Astarion’s passionate hands brought an imagined warmth to his cold heart.

Elganon’s eyes were attracted to the movement of Astarion’s opposite hand as it pumped the vampire’s growing length. It began to glisten in the sunlight coming in from the window as the sun was starting to set when it became wet with the viscous lubricant, making Astarion’s girth all the more enticing. The half-elf’s hands found their way to his own member, fondling the shaft with the left hand while cupping and cradling his balls with the right. 

Astarion had never noticed until this point that Elganon was left-handed—an odd time to make this observation, but it was usually only in relaxed moments like these where the vampire’s mind was free enough to focus on such minor things. He hid this fact from Elganon, but throughout almost every day, his thoughts were being haunted by the vampire lord Cazador, who had yet had more command over him than he wanted to believe. Perhaps it was anxiety—fear that his master would take him away again one day—that relinquished his mind back to his master, who was persistent in clawing at it, trying to break him down psychologically all over again and again. But with Elganon, in these fleeting moments of private intimacy, he felt that he had control over his own life again. Their love was like a safeguard from the shadow of Cazador’s ever-present will.

“Make love to me,” Elganon murmured softly, arching his back into his lover’s touch.

Astarion chuckled. “I believe I already am.”

The half-elf exhaled from his nose in an amused sort of way. “You know what I mean.”

Astarion no longer needed an invitation to trespass wherever he liked, but he did enjoy it when his partner pleaded for him to “come inside”, so to speak. He removed his fingers from Elganon’s hole, eliciting a moan from the half-elf, and crawled on top of him, pressing their nude bodies together as he leaned in for an impassioned kiss that grew in fervor as the men got progressively used to their lips being locked together, especially when the mouths parted and their tongues began mingling together. Elganon didn’t seem to mind the taste of his own blood lingering in the elf’s mouth, nor notice when his lips were stained red by it.

The vampire’s skin tingled when Elganon’s enthusiastic sighs of pleasure rumbled in his mouth at the moment that he pressed his erect cock into his lover’s entrance. Slender arms were draped around Astarion’s neck for support as the warlock took it upon himself to slide more of the shaft inside himself, greedy for every inch and possibly then some, but eventually the hilt had been reached. And to think there was a time when Elganon wept fearfully that he “wasn’t sure he could take any more” when Astarion was only halfway in! Strangely, this progression made the elf’s chest swell with pride, for he attributed much of Elganon’s sexual discovery to himself, considering himself his partner’s learned mentor in such carnal delights. For the most part, it was true.

Elganon smiled tenderly at each thrust of Astarion’s hard cock that followed when the vampire seemed to take back control of their lovemaking. He relaxed in the pale elf’s arms as their bodies writhed together, his smooth abdomen brushing against Astarion’s significantly more muscular one. He let go of Astarion’s neck and reached his arms up to grab one of the two pillows scattered across the bed, dragging it underneath his head for support while he enjoyed himself.

The unique feeling of his partner’s member inside of him brought back a strange memory he’d nearly forgotten. “Astarion?” he cooed sweetly, his sudden lucidity drawing the attention of his beloved.

“Mmh… Yes, my love?” The elf peered up from Elganon’s shoulder, where he had buried his face when he began pumping himself in and out of the tight hole between his partner’s supple thighs.

“Can I tell you a dirty story about myself? Something that happened a few years ago, before we met?” His toes curled around the backs of Astarion’s legs, bracing himself as his lover began to penetrate him with heightened vigor. Apparently, he had the man’s curiosity piqued.

“Oh? What brought this on?” Astarion asked with a devilish grin, lacing their fingers together and holding their hands on either side of Elganon’s hips.

“Your…” Elganon giggled, rolling the back of his head against the pillow behind it. “…you know. It reminded me of something I did a few summers back. Something silly.”

Since Elganon had been a virgin when they first laid together, Astarion presumed it was a story about the young half-elf playing with himself. Either it would be utterly embarrassing, or positively delightful. Perhaps both, even. “Go on, let’s hear it.”

“Well…” The warlock bit his bottom lip, trying to contain his smile, yet failing. “I was here in my bedroom, and it was swelteringly hot outside, like today. I was eating a popsicle. Licking on it, really. It was more water than anything—not much flavor. It wasn’t very good, but as I laid there on my bed, my mind began to wander…” 

It became difficult to keep telling his story as Astarion’s pace picked up even further in his thrill. Elganon threw his hands around his lover again and sunk his fingernails into the vampire’s back, digging into the markings in his flesh there, when his words melted into moans as his prostate was prodded relentlessly. 

Astarion slowed down, but only a little since he wanted to hear more of the tale, now sucking and licking at his lover’s neck where he’d bitten the young man earlier to satisfy his unnatural hunger. “Mmhm?”

“Ah… As you might imagine, I started thinking of the popsicle as a…I assume you can guess what. I’d never had one in my mouth back then, and I always wondered what it’d be like. I couldn’t get my own into my mouth, but I’d tried a few times.” Elganon blushed at his own admission. “At best, I could only kiss the tip for a split second at a time.”

The vampire laughed and brought his lips up to the half-elf’s ear. “You dirty boy. I would have liked to watch you try! Mmm, and maybe even help you.” His mind lingered much too long on that thought. “Goodness, if I knew where you lived and of your pent-up sexual frustrations back before this whole mind flayer tadpole thing occurred, I might have knocked on your bedroom window and relieved you of your suffering _much_ sooner, my love. You’d only need to invite me in!”

Elganon swallowed hard, wishing for the same. “I might have,” he confessed. Something about Astarion drove him mad at first sight of the man up close when they’d met on the beach—enough to make him forget about his mistrust of strangers. Though he tried to walk away from Astarion very quickly when the elf approached him with a suspicious proposition, by the time he was tackled to the sand and gazed into those bright red eyes with the dagger held to his throat, all of his sensibilities drifted away. 

“Anyway…” Elganon paused to take a few shallow breaths, distracted by the throbbing member pushing in and out of him while he was locked in his lover’s embrace as Astarion’s arms tangled around his torso in turn. “I got so into it that I was getting painfully tight…down there.”

Astarion snickered. “I love how you still pretend you’re not a whorish little _fiend_ for me with your bashful descriptions of genitalia. You can say it.” His fangs danced around the puncture holes in Elganon’s neck playfully, pondering if he should have another nibble. Would it be too soon? Probably. He’d wait a little while longer.

“M-…My cock got really hard, and I started rubbing it against my bed.”

“Mmm…” The trace of pooling blood that flowed from the half-elf’s unhealed neck due to Astarion’s lightly applied pressure tantalized the vampire’s tastebuds almost as much as the lovely mental image he was given. While he lapped up the blood with his tongue, savoring the taste, his hands wandered to Elganon’s groin where he caressed the shaft with his skilled fingers and played with the foreskin, rolling it further down so that he could trace the pad of his index and middle fingers and his thumb around the most delicate parts of the head until his curious digits were moist with precum.

The vividly replaying memory combined with the attention Astarion was giving his erection made the warlock gasp and whimper, but he tried to go on because he was loving how excited it was making them both. “The popsicle was melting in my mouth, and I didn’t want to waste it. L-Like I said, it didn’t taste good, so I…”

“Mmhm?” Astarion mumbled, urging him to go on. His eyes were closed, and his lips and tongue continued to assault his partner’s neck while he touched his lover down below. The bucking of his hips had settled to a more patient rhythm; he was now in no hurry to climax. He wanted to just lose himself to the young man and his intoxicating memories and taste.

“I…” Astarion’s fingers traveled down to Elganon’s testicles, massaging them before traveling back up to grip the shaft of his member firmly, pumping it expertly between two fingers and his thumb to be a bit of a tease, rather than using the whole hand. Elganon’s hips wiggled and his thighs quaked at the fondling. His voice cracked when he spoke again. “I pulled down my trousers and slid it inside of me. It was so cold. It hurt and I cried a little at first, but I kept going. One inch at a time until it was buried to the stick held in my fingers. It felt really good. I must have been very warm around it because it was starting to melt faster than in my mouth. Water was dripping down my taint, all the way to my cock. It was very chilly, but it tickled. I _loved_ it.”

The vampire really had lost himself into the story, imagining every moment—every whine and movement of the half-elf’s lithe body as he plunged the frozen treat into himself shamelessly in the secrecy of his tiny bedroom at the top of the tower. Gods, what he would have given to be a fly on the wall then. He would have pounced on the poor young man in an instant, if given the chance. He was only thankful that he never _did_ encounter Elganon back then. Someone like him would have surely been one of the poor beautiful souls he’d be tasked with bringing back to his sadistic master.

Astarion had repositioned the two of them, spooning with Elganon on the bed while holding one of the warlock’s thighs across his hip as he bucked into him from behind, trying to outdo the memory and stave off the thought of Cazador. He _did_ feel like a spike of ice inside of his lover, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Not for Elganon; he was weeping with delight and crying out Astarion’s name.

The half-elf clutched the bedsheets tightly in one fist while his black hair spilled across his reddened face with his head leaning into the pillow. He was mostly still, aside from the steady rising and falling of his delicate chest, allowing himself to be made love to as his partner pleased. “You feel so much better than the popsicle. I wish you would have been there to pull it out of me and take me instead.”

_No, you don’t,_ Astarion thought to himself sadly. _Trust me, you don’t_ , _my love_ …

Elganon had decided to move them again, gripping the back of Astarion’s thigh and rolling onto his belly so that the vampire was mounted on top of him. The half-elf thrusted into the mattress to put satisfying friction on his cock while his lover grabbed onto his rear and pounded him harder. With his eyes shut, mewling into the bedsheet that muffled his pleasured cries and only allowed him to continue breathing out of his nose, Elganon fantasized about what that evening might have been like, completely unaware of Astarion’s own fears about such a fateful encounter, had it actually occurred.

In Elganon’s mind, Astarion would have been watching him by the open window, smiling in amusement, and Elganon’s “come hither” eyes would have been his silent invitation. The vampire would climb right in through the threshold, stand at his bedside, and caress the half-elven peasant’s exposed backside while he observed him tending to himself for a while longer. 

The elf would gingerly bat Elganon’s hand away from the popsicle stick and pull it out, casting it aside with a piteous tsk. “Poor boy,” he’d say woefully, wagging a finger. “If you’re really so desperate for the touch of an icy prick, then let me oblige you with the real thing, you precious little deviant.”

He’d unfasten his belt buckle, and bring forth his growing erection, touching at the head and shaft while squeezing Elganon’s rear with the other palm. The half-elf would soon feel the cold tip as it went in slowly, carefully, inch-by-inch until he was stretched wide by his seducer’s girth as it properly took his virginity.

The fair-haired vampire would bend over him and lean in to whisper sweet nothings in his ear to relax him, and then nibble at the flesh there until blood trickled down to his neck, where it would be lapped up by a cool tongue. Then Elganon would be pinned to the bed and made love to by a wild creature of the night, exactly like this, as he wailed in ecstasy, just as he was doing now.

Where had Astarion been on all his isolating, lonely nights, when the only company he had was his own? Trapped with Cazador, his controlling vampire master, no doubt. Did Cazador ever have him like this, he wondered? He hoped not. He wanted Astarion all to himself, filling him up with his chilly love. It was true that Elganon and Astarion sometimes shared a bed with others, but it was always together. In those moments, Astarion was still his, and he was still Astarion’s. Whomever joined them in their bed was their plaything that they enjoyed together.

Elganon reached behind himself to spread his cheeks wider, hoping that it would help his lover go in deeper. Astarion laughed at the attempt and said, “Darling, I appreciate your enthusiasm, my cock’s only so long.”

“Ngh… Not true,” the half-elf grumbled into the sheets. “Th…There’s a cream downstairs in the apothecary that can make it even larger. T-Temporarily.”

Heavens, Elganon had become such a nasty boy under Astarion’s influence. Or perhaps he was always that way, and simply hadn’t known it until he was given a helping hand. Or two.

But no matter what his beloved desired, Astarion was willing to try it at least once. After all, what was the point of eternal life if you weren’t going to have a bit of adventurous fun with it?

Astarion flinched when he felt the sensation of his newfound snake familiar, Charming, crawling up the back of his thigh. He grabbed it by the neck and flung it across the room with an audible thud and a pained hiss from the serpent. Elganon looked up with puzzlement in his eyes, wondering what made the odd sound.

Alright, there were _some_ things that were completely off the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You live your life, you go in shadows. You'll come apart and you'll go black. Some kind of night into your darkness. Colors your eyes with what's not there."
> 
> Recommended Listening: Fade Into You by Mazzy Star


	13. An Unexpected Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elganon has the most wonderful dream... The only trouble is that it's not about Astarion.

The beautiful plains that seemed to stretch on forever took Elganon’s breath away, but not as much as the sight of the half-orcish man laying in the lush grass beside him as the morning sun’s rays kissed their skin. Elganon smiled at him bashfully when their eyes met. Not many people would say they were fond of being looked upon by eyes like the half-orc’s. They were bulging, giving him a stare that most would call intimidating, but all Elganon could focus on was how beautiful his pale blue irises were.

The half-orc was braiding the half-elf’s shoulder-length black hair—which he’d slipped freshly picked flowers into earlier—to match the small braids in his own mousey brown locks. His large, calloused hands were so gentle despite him having such thick fingers and the build of a warrior. Elganon nuzzled against one of the grayish hands as it brushed against his cheek, widening the half-orc’s smile so much that his stubby tusks became more prominent. The half-elf cupped the larger man’s square jaw in his hands to bring their faces closer together and place a gentle kiss on the half-orc’s cleft lip.

Abandoning the partially finished braid, the half-orc wrapped his arms around Elganon’s body, bridging the gap between them entirely and deepening the kiss. The parted flesh of his upper lip hardly fettered the passion he displayed. It was unusual to Elganon to feel another warm mouth against his own; he had become rather accustomed to Astarion’s undead chill, but this new alien feeling was not unwelcome. Their tongues wrapped around each other’s, and Elganon could taste the lingering presence of chewing tobacco, giving him yet another foreign sensation to explore.

Elganon was laid on his back against the soft grass, and the half-orc straddled him with his powerful bowlegged thighs. He was so tall and muscular that he could have easily crushed the half-elf by accident or otherwise, but he was surprisingly good at controlling his immense strength. The warlock gawked at him in awe as the half-orc pulled his shirt over his head, completely revealing those rippling muscles that flexed with every slight movement of his body. They were riddled with scars—each one a story that Elganon wished to ask him about sometime.

“Never thought we’d be doing this together,” the half-orc said in his gruff voice with a sense of humor in his tone. “Thought _about_ it, but… Never thought it’d actually happen.”

“I could say the same,” Elganon confessed, his face getting redder by the minute. Suddenly, he frowned concernedly. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Same,” the man grunted, his smile never fading. His eyes wandered down to Elganon’s torso, and he leaned down to spread open the unbuttoned shirt further, admiring the half-elf’s lithe figure. Each breath that Elganon took made him look all the more enchanting as his smooth abdomen undulated under his palms. “You were always so beautiful. Wish I’d told ya sooner.”

“Really?” Elganon gasped breathlessly, mouth hanging open in a bright smile.

“’Course. Thought it came across as obvious with the way I looked at you.” The half-orc’s hands wandered away from the half-elf’s chest, taking the man’s smaller hands into his own and stroking over the backs of them with his massive thumbs. “I felt bad sometimes. Don’t think anyone wants to be admired by me.”

“Nonsense,” Elganon retorted, sadness and worry returning to his eyes. “It would have made my dreams come true to know you loved me. I always thought you were so handsome and so sweet. To me, you were the kindest soul in all of Baldur’s Gate. I would’ve never left the city if I knew you were still alive. They told me you had died.”

“Figures,” the half-orc said with a snort. “Rumors run halfway ‘round Faerûn before the truth even gets its boots on. I’m plenty alive. Let me show ya.” With a playful smirk on his lips, the half-orc dipped back down to give Elganon another kiss, doing away with their trousers all the while. The half-elf was very eager to slip his legs out of his remaining garments and kick them to the side before wrapping his limbs around his romantic interest, kissing him with fervor.

It was surreal for Elganon to be here with the man after all these years. Astarion was his first love…that he’d ever confessed to having and who confessed to loving him back. But this man, who was only a few years his senior, he’d had a crush on ever since they were boys. It was a dream that was all dashed away when the city watch came and took the half-orc years ago, locking him away to rot in a prison cell for who knew how long. Thinking him long dead, his existence almost entirely slipped away from the half-elf's mind. It needed to, for Elganon’s sanity. To dwell on his memory was much too painful, as it brought about an obsession over what could have been if he had only been brave enough to say how he felt when he had the chance to.

Elganon wasn’t sure of the extent of the half-orc’s experience with men or women, since unlike Madam Mum’s other hired muscle, Elganon never saw him travel upstairs with one of her prostitutes unless it was to handle an unruly client or a settle dispute that had broken out between the brothel’s employees, but he knew the man had a reputation of being a fine lover from those who claimed they had laid with him. Anxious, Elganon almost thought to tell him that he wasn’t as naïve and boyish as he was when they’d last met—that he’d done a lot of growing up since then and wasn’t so innocent and daft to the ways of romance anymore. It worried him sick to think he might disappoint the burly well-matured man who was now touching him in ways he never imagined. 

When Elganon and Astarion first made love, Astarion had told him that he could tell it was the warlock’s desire to be known. It was true, and in this moment, he didn’t want to be misunderstood. Elganon didn’t want to be known as the awkward boy the half-orc remembered, but as the man Elganon had become since his unexpected adventure began.

The half-elf steadied his nervous hands and pressed them to the half-orc’s bare chest, smoothing the coarse hair there as his palms brushed over the man’s hard nipples, causing him to shudder. Elganon’s sorrowful eyes locked with the man’s intense gaze, the warlock’s delicate features becoming as serious as he could make them appear. The soft, searching hands traveled further down, grasping the half-orc by his manhood and stroking the stout length proficiently. All the while, Elganon’s eyes never left the man’s face; he wanted to appear confident in what he was doing.

The half-orc must have been impressed because he was allowing himself to submit to every silken touch that followed, and continued to caress Elganon with heightened enthusiasm, feeling every tender spot that the slender half-elf’s body had to offer and becoming intoxicated by every gentle sigh of pleasure he was rewarded with.

It was a slow and methodical affair that transpired between the two of them in the plain. Two bodies became one as they rocked together, and in time, the half-orc’s erect girth had been plunged inside of the half-elf, provoking a delighted cry that was meant only for him. Elganon’s arms held him around the shoulders as tightly as they could while they moved in sync with the whims of one another’s flesh, and soft pink lips brushed against the lobe of the half-orc’s ear, whispering his name.

“Benny…”

* * *

Fast asleep, Elganon’s hips bucked and writhed as a pleasant pressure was applied to his groin and stroked up and down. It soon stirred him from his slumber, and his eyes fluttered open to the realization that his lover, Astarion, was masturbating him with a palm and grinning wickedly as he was caught in the act. The fact that Elganon was awake now only encouraged the vampire to continue; he chuckled when the half-elf peered below the blankets to see the pale elf’s hand stuffed down the front of his undergarments, which had become sopping wet with precum. Elganon’s utter embarrassment thrilled his perverse partner, and admittedly, Astarion’s enjoyment of it thrilled him, too.

The half-elf arched into the touch, fucking the vampire’s hand vigorously. His heartrate rose significantly, and sensing this, Astarion licked his lips hungrily, dizzy at just the thought of tasting his lover’s hot blood. Fangs came close to Elganon’s neck, teasing the skin as a wordless request for permission to clamp down. The warlock bobbed his head, unable to speak between his ragged breaths as he rutted against Astarion’s palm shamelessly. He moaned when the fangs entered his neck and the vampire’s fingers curled around his hard member to heighten his pleasure, either as thanks or perhaps to distract him from the pain.

Astarion didn’t finish feeding prior to Elganon ejaculating in his hand, and thusly his own undergarments. Even when spent, the half-elf draped a leg around the older man, proceeding to thrust his limp cock into the vampire’s still-tightened fist while he waited until Astarion had drank his fill and released him from his predatory grasp with a contented huff. They pressed their foreheads together, panting and satiated in two entirely different ways. Astarion smiled, rubbing the bridge of his nose into Elganon’s cheek, and placed a bloody kiss there, which he cleaned up with his tongue right away. 

“Sweet dreams, I take it?” the vampire murmured huskily, cuddling with his loved one. He was erect against the half-elf’s thigh, but he wasn’t particularly eager to be relieved of the stiffness in his cock; he merely basked in the pleasant swell of his own arousal as they lay on the bed holding one another.

Elganon turned his head to kiss the elf’s cool lips, tasting the coppery tang of his own blood. His fingers stroked at Astarion’s collar bone, and he leaned into the man’s embrace while lightly gliding his thigh along the vampire’s hardening length. The cold air of Astarion’s steady breaths—a habit kept from his past life when he still required air to live—made his skin tingle and calmed him. Yet despite how precious the tender moment was, Elganon’s heart sank with immense guilt.

“You could say that,” the half-elf replied vaguely, averting his eyes elsewhere, as if there were other things more interesting in the room he was already so familiar with.

Astarion chuckled, taking his lover’s body language and tone as a display of his usual shyness. “Was it about me?” 

Of course, he had to ask that. Astarion loved it when things were all about himself. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about Elganon or his pleasure—quite the contrary. Rather, it was just that the vampire needed more of an ego boost than the average person. He was as in love with himself as he was with the man in his arms, and what was wrong with that? He was of the opinion that one had to love themselves before they could love anyone else.

Elganon’s brows knitted together and his frown became more apparent, seeming deeply disturbed by the second question. “Yes,” he lied, surprising himself. “Y-Yes, it was.” He didn’t sound particularly enthused about the dream, or at least, he wasn’t happy to recount it in his mind when his actual lover was staring right at him expectantly, clueless to the truth. Either Elganon's will was stronger than Astarion's, and therefore his mind could not be pried then, or Astarion trusted him enough not to even consider using the power of the Illithid tadpole lingering in their brains to have a peek for himself. Neither possibility was any less upsetting than the other, as they both had troubling implications.

Astarion only continued to unwittingly make matters worse by nibbling on his partner’s ear and asking in between love bites, “Mmm… Well, don’t spare me the details, darling.” 

He was completely baffled when Elganon shoved him away and stumbled out of bed naked, except for his undergarments, and staggered over to the massive window in the room.

The only thing keeping the warlock from tottering over was the arm he braced against the window’s sturdy frame as he stared out at the streets of the Lower City below the tall tower, watching as his fellow peasants went about their morning chores. A lone brawny figure with gray-tinted skin caught his eye, and his heart nearly stopped. The tall half-orc man garbed in light armor with braided mousey brown hair, walking bowlegged with a short sword holstered on the hips of his belt, was approaching the entrance to the tower that was several floors below where Elganon stood. He couldn’t believe it was really him, after all these years. He was still alive, and now he was here.

Under his breath, with tears pooling in his eyes, Elganon murmured the name, “Benny…”

* * *

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "How can I say it's you I think of every single night and day?"
> 
> Recommended Listening: How Can I Tell Her by Lobo


	14. The Jealous Heart of a Vampire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone special from Elganon's past life has returned, and Astarion isn't sure how to handle it.

Astarion was frankly astonished by the hastiness in which his lover, Elganon, washed up and changed into fresh clothes for the morning. Normally, the half-elf was sluggish and monotonous in going about getting ready for the day, with the only exception being if he got the inclination to have a bit of intimate fun with Astarion before getting out of bed, which was the case today. Perhaps Astarion’s playful touching gave him an uncanny burst of energy in a way that hadn’t really occurred before? What was going on here?

The vampire tried to keep up in his own efforts to tidy himself up. He often took a time to get prepared himself, but unlike Elganon, it wasn’t because he was meandering about tiredly. Being a dandy in life, Astarion liked to preen as much as a bird, though he deeply regretted that in undeath, he could no longer admire himself in a mirror for hours and hours. That was one of the worst parts about being a vampire, and he sorely wished that the mind flayer tadpole in his brain had subverted that along with the previous inability to walk in sunlight without being burned to ash.

However, this morning, Astarion would begrudgingly set aside his passion for pampering himself if only to see what it was that made his partner so eager to run down the long staircase of the enchanted tower they stayed in since arriving at Baldur’s Gate, thanks to the reluctant generosity of Elganon’s adoptive duergar father who was greeting someone at the front door on the bottom floor. The half-orcish man that Orebos, the duergar, was talking to didn’t seem like a customer, given the familiarity with which they were speaking; Orebos usually had a poor attitude with his customers and often treated them like imbeciles wasting his time—even the regulars. With this man, though, he was grinning from ear-to-ear.

“Fer six years in prison, ye look good, lad,” said the gray dwarf to the half-orc, apparently catching up on lost time. Both men turned when they saw a small crowd amassing at the bottom of the spiral staircase; it wasn’t just Elganon and Astarion that heard voices echoing in the ancient tower in the quiet early morning hours. All of their traveling companions were drawn into the apothecary shop area of the building by their curiosity.

Elganon, in spite of the shyness he was known for, surprised everyone but Orebos and the half-orc by rushing forward to leap up and hug the tall stranger around the neck. He was caught by the arms of the man, who hugged him back, and smiled warmly after making a startled sound. The unexpectedness of this exchange painted shock across Astarion’s pale features, for he’d never seen Elganon react this way with anyone; he wasn’t even this excited to see the dwarf who’d raised him again upon his return to the city hew grew up in. (Granted, that may have been largely due to the fact that the duergar disliked shows of physical affection, unless they were on his own terms.)

Lae’zel, the githyanki warrior of their group, eyed the half-orc up and down. Whereas someone like Astarion saw only a hideous beast of a man with his bulging eyes, cleft lip, bowlegs, and half-breed ancestry, the wiser githyanki saw a powerful being that held himself with pride and dignity that earned him a small portion of her admiration already. “Who is this man?”

The half-orc gently set Elganon back down on the ground and gave the half-elf a pat on the head, tousling his raven black hair affectionately. “Benjamin,” he said to the githyanki woman. “People ‘round ‘ere just call me Benny or Ben, though, for short.”

“No surname?” asked Astarion with furrowed eyebrows and his hands on his hips, channeling his former magistrate self with a line of judgmental questioning at the ready in the back of his mind.

“I’m a bastard,” the half-orc answered plainly, as casual as if he were discussing the weather even though Elganon was glaring offendedly at the vampire on his behalf. “Dad was some well-to-do merchant—a human—who didn’t want a halfie born outta wedlock on his reputation. You know how it goes.”

Astarion ignored the icy reception from his lover and narrowed his eyes further. “Of course…” He wasn’t sure what Elganon’s association was with this man, but he already didn’t like it.

“Anyways,” Ben peered between Elganon and Orebos. “Mum sent me to replace the hired hands that Candulhallow’s people took out. You know her—when I got out of prison, she didn’t want to put me back to work right away. But you know me,” he pointed a thumb at his chest, grinning wider. “I get antsy from sittin’ around too much. When she told me you hired some of our muscle to guard the tower, I knew straight away where I wanted to go: Far away from poor Mum’s coddlin’ an’ worryin’ over me. So, what say you, Ore?”

“Benny, yer one o’ tha few folk I like in this whole damned city,” said the duergar. “If I turned ye away, I’d be sorrier fer it.” He gestured to his adoptive son’s collective party, who were still gawking at them. “Maybe while yer here, ye could keep this lot in line, eh? Elg’s picked ‘im up some friends along tha way. Can’t stand ‘em, but they carry their weight most o' tha time…” His eyes wandered over to Astarion, as did his pointing finger. “’Cept fer tha’ one. Thinks ‘e can just stand ‘round lookin’ pretty all day, and ‘e’s always got ‘is hand out like I owe ‘im somethin’. Posh bastard.”

Astarion’s face turned as red as his eyes and his arms spread out. “How dare you talk about me like I’m not standing here, you—”

“Feck off, Frilly, tha _real men_ are talkin’ ‘ere,” grunted the dwarf rudely with a dismissive scowl. “Mind yer manners.”

_Mind MY manners!?_ Astarion thought, fuming as he bit his tongue. 

Gods, it seemed like every time he thought he was growing fond of the old bastard, the dwarf had a way of infuriating him all over again, usually by making some ignorant and uncalled for comment about his manliness, or perceived lack thereof. Elganon wasn’t crazy about his adoptive father’s choice of words, either, but he had long been broken down by derogatory comments like that himself and hadn’t the self-esteem to challenge his parental figure’s backwards ways. 

It never occurred to Astarion that he made his lover similarly uncomfortable with his own forms of bigotry. When he pursued law as a career in his former life, it was not out of a feeling of civil duty nor a desire to bring justice to the world. In his case, it was mainly because he was always very skilled at judging others and felt no guilt over issuing harsh condemnation. He knew he himself wasn’t perfect by any means, but he also happened to think that he was doing better than most people around him.

Benny gave his dwarven friend a skeptical look that implored him to be kinder to the elven stranger, if Orebos even knew much in the ways of kindness outside of what proved to have pragmatic ulterior value. “Surely, he has a real name, eh?”

“Astarion,” the vampire answered for himself bitterly. “And before you get smart with me, I _do_ have a family name of my own, I just—” Was he really about to confess that he was disowned in front of everyone here? No, he couldn’t. “It’s none of anyone’s business. I don’t want anyone snooping around my past while we’re here in the city.” He cast a suspicious glance between the rest of his party members.

“Had no intention of getting’ smart with ya, m’lord,” said the half-orc with only a tiny hint of sarcasm. For the most part, his words were genuine. Astarion, though surprised, looked suddenly pleased; that was the first time in years someone had acknowledged him with the proper respect he felt he was due.

Wyll found himself grinning at “m’lord”, but for entirely different reasons than Astarion was. “Don’t call ‘im that. It’ll go to his head, and it’s big enough as it is.” The vampire peered at him sharply, but he hardly cared. As a seasoned monster hunter, he was fairly confident he could handle Astarion if it came to that.

Recognizing the scarred face of the man who spoke, Ben approached Wyll to confirm his identity with a closer examination. “Well, I’ll be damned! You’ve got to be the Blade of Frontiers!” He must have been a fan, given the reaction.

“The one and only,” said Wyll, offering his hand for a firm shake that was heartily accepted. Astarion, standing next to them, was meanwhile bristling with jealousy; as a vampire, it was in his best interest not to be the center of attention, but here he was desiring it as always against all logic. Wyll noticed, and his cheeky grin stretched further on his face as he clapped the half-orc on the arm jovially. “If you want to hear a few tales from the Blade himself, we could share a few drinks sometime,” Wyll offered.

“All tall tales, I’m sure,” Astarion muttered with his arms crossed petulantly, earning himself an eyeroll from the only real eye Wyll had left.

“I like a good adventure story,” said Ben optimistically. “A few drinks makes it even better, an’ it’s not everyday ya meet a livin’ legend. It’s a deal, then.” He bumped Wyll on the shoulder with his knuckles in a friendly gesture, then glanced down at the rest of the crew. “And who’s the rest of this merry band, eh?”

“Lae’zel,” said the githyanki, who had been staring at him ponderously the entire time. Her own name stumbled out of her mouth clumsily in a manner she did not expect, making her yellow face flush with shame and her golden-brown eyes flit away from the towering man.

Gale couldn’t help but smile, as he’d never seen the githyanki warrior so out-of-sorts before, but he pretended that he was just in a particularly good mood to avoid invoking her wrath as he nodded his head and raised a hand in greeting to the half-orc. “Gale, Wizard of Waterdeep.”

Benny bobbed his head, impressed at both Lae’zel and Gale’s introductions, then settled his eyes on Shadowheart, who had still yet to say a word to him. She sulked and wrinkled her nose up at him before begrudgingly spitting out her name.

“Shadowheart. And don’t make some stupid comment about how “strange and unusual” my name is, like your friend over there did when we met.” She pointed at Elganon, who squirmed anxiously and fiddled with his hands as if he were suddenly fascinated with them.

The half-orc laughed and put his palms up defensively. “Shadowheart’s a fine name—no worries, miss. Glad we’re all introduced, then. We’ll be seeing a lot of each other from now on, I’m sure.”

Gale raised an eyebrow curiously. “You’re not going to hide in the shadows day and night like the rest of the hirelings?” Lae’zel nudged him hard in the ribs with her elbow, barring her teeth at him as a warning. “Ow! What? That’s what they do! They skulk!”

“Not my style,” said Ben, and the sharp whistle he made with his mouth apparently summoned the two remaining guards the tower still had on hand, other than himself. Odd—the group could have sworn there were more. The pair—consisting of an elven woman and a male tiefling—certainly made it seem that way. “Vaylen, Rook, show me where Candulhallow’s people’ve been gettin’ in—”

There was a loud hiss, a muffled female voice, and the sound of a scuffle that erupted in the basement below. Whatever it was, it all happened so fast that it took a moment for anyone to piece together what was even happening. At the very least, it reminded everyone that not _all_ of their party had been gathered together; its newest member was missing: the unusual deep gnome (alleged half-goblin) Kahira.

A lot of unintentional shoving went on as everyone piled into the narrow stairway that lead underground, save the duergar who couldn’t be bothered with any trouble disrupting his day this early on (let them handle it, he must have figured). As suspected, Kahira was in danger, but what wasn’t expected was what was causing issue: It was an intellect devourer, and the diminutive brain creature had dragged her screaming indignantly into a hole in the wall by its tentacle-like appendages that sprouted from its body. Unfortunately, the tunnel through which it disappeared was too small for anyone here to fit through in pursuit.

Astarion smelled the scent of blood, and his eyes were then attracted to a familiar white snake curled up on the floor in a tight coil, trying to stop the blood seeping from the deep claw marks in its back. He went to go kneel beside it, offering the snake his hand. 

“Charming, what happened?” he asked his familiar, wondering for a moment if the creature was dying. Fortunately, the injuries looked worse than they truly were. He would have hated to lose the creature that was teaching him powerful magic so soon.

The serpent’s ruby eyes shifted between Astarion’s own and his outstretched hand, cautious that the vampire may not be able to contain himself at the sight of his dripping blood. Sighing, Astarion glanced over at Elganon, who was standing over his shoulder and fidgeting worriedly about the snake’s condition.

“Go back upstairs to the apothecary and bring us some bandages, will you, love?” Astarion instructed, and with a nod, Elganon did just that.

The others were examining the hole in the basement wall and searching around for clues as to what drew an intellect devourer here. Was it looking for them? Did it know they were staying here? Why did it take Kahira? As bait? If so, why would it go where they could not follow? There were so many questions, and very few answers to be found. Just fresh blood and claw marks. The pungent aroma of the former made Astarion’s head spin, but he would not allow his hunger to embarrass him by letting it have its way, which would either entail draining the snake dry or lapping at the blood staining the stone floor like an animal. He may have been robbed of his dignity under the thumb of Cazador, but he wouldn’t permit it to happen here.

Fortunately, Elganon came back rather quickly and tended to the snake’s wounds. When that was done, he used the remaining linens to mop up the bloodstains on the basement floor. Perhaps he knew of Astarion’s struggle, but regardless of whether he did or not, the vampire was thankful for his consideration. It allowed him to think clearly again and listen to the familiar when it spoke.

“Kahira and I found that hole behind one of the fungi plantersss when we heard sssomething ssscratching behind it. When ssshe moved the planter, that… _thing_ leaped out at usss and ssstruck me before I could even get a word of an incantation out. Then it took her,” Charming explained hurriedly, curling its tail at the pain of its bandaged wounds.

Elganon tried to pick up the snake to cradle it in his arms, but it hissed at him threateningly, much to Astarion’s disappointment. He had no idea why the snake hated his lover so badly. Elganon usually got on very well with animals, but this one loathed him from the start. It was something to do with him being an “abomination”, but Astarion couldn’t understand it since he himself was considered to be an affront to nature, yet the snake _preferred_ his company.

“I know you’re not going to want to hear this, but we ought to save her, Astarion,” Elganon said once he recovered from the shock of being aggressively rejected by the snake. “Kahira’s a bit like family.”

“I thought you were afraid of her and said she got on your nerves,” Astarion replied. He thought that this would all have been great news to his partner.

Elganon sighed irritably, throwing his arms into the air. “Well, you can’t choose family.”

The vampire puzzled even harder over the response. “Elganon, you’re _adopted_.”

“Do you really think I _chose_ these people!?”

The half-elf had him there. “Alright, I suppose that’s _fair_. But how do you propose we even find her now? Even you aren’t tiny enough to fit through that hole, dear.”

Charming groaned before either Elganon or Astarion even looked his way, already knowing what this would come to. “I could fit through without issssue… But let it be known that I’m not doing it for the abomination here; I am doing it for an old friend’sss sssake.”

Astarion and Elganon both blinked at the serpent. “An old friend?” asked Elganon.

The snake nodded. “I knew Kahira’sss mother.”

That took Elganon by surprise; even he didn’t know who Kahira’s mother was, so how did this strange familiar that Astarion “conveniently found” one day know so much about people linked to Elganon’s life and seemingly have a long history with some of those people? He eyed Astarion suspiciously, but he was purposefully ignored to the best of the vampire’s ability.

“Very well,” Astarion agreed reluctantly. “Let’s tell the others that we’re sending you as a scout, and we’ll get on with this…dreadful “rescue mission”.” He perished the thought, ill to his stomach that he was agreeing to help someone that he’d honestly rather not. As someone who thoroughly believed he’d probably meet his end via decapitation one of these days, Astarion didn’t like to stick his neck out for others.

* * *

* * *

“I wonder if that flesh golem we animated together might still be here,” Astarion whispered to Elganon with a delighted grin at the possibility.

In a way, he missed the creature since, in a sense, he was its creator. Well…one of its creators, at least. Elganon, his adoptive uncle Tabalecus, and Orebos stitched the thing together, but Astarion was sure that _he_ did most of the work to bring it to life during the necromantic ritual they participated in. …Maybe not, but that was beside the point: Where was it now down here in these dark, dank sewers? And would Elganon have minded horribly if he turned around and went home? It was _really_ starting to stink down here, and he didn’t want to muck up his boots; being down here was _demeaning_.

Elganon apparently didn’t hear Astarion’s musing at all, as he was distractedly outpacing the elf along the walkway, making a beeline straight for Benny, who was leading the search for Kahira at the front. Astarion was _really_ starting to resent the half-orc and whatever grip he had on the warlock.

“Th-Thanks for coming with us, Benny,” Elganon murmured, beaming bashfully up at the tall man. He didn’t even notice that he was walking so close to his childhood friend that their arms were bumping together with every other footfall because it was just that natural, even if they hadn’t seen each other in years.

“’Course,” mumbled the half-orc in return, returning the warmth the half-elf showed him. “Kahi was just as much my friend as she was yours growin’ up. Got to look out for one another. Else, then what good’s a friend for?”

Something in those words disturbed the warlock slightly. Was he a good friend since the man vanished from his life? Was he the kind of person that Benny would have approved of? He feared that he wasn’t. How much of Elganon’s selfless acts were performative for the sake of making his childhood crush proud of him and like him better? Ever since Benny was hauled off to prison, Elganon felt that his penchant for cowardice had swung into full force with nothing to deny it. Bad things would happen around him to folk, and he would dismiss it as none of his business where as in the past, he, Benny, and Kahira would have a collective mind that: “Someone ought to do something to help.” 

Even worse, for some odd reason, as Elganon’s ambivalence became a more regular occurrence, there came a certain comfort in the knowledge that suffering was normal and that there was beauty to be found in the tragedy people experienced in their everyday life. Why disrupt that when, like art, it could be admired and appreciated in silence for what it was? Sometimes Elganon felt that only his demonic patron would agree with him on such a thing, so he kept these dark thoughts to himself.

“I’m just glad you came back to me,” Elganon confessed elatedly, without evaluating his words more carefully first. “I missed you very much. My whole world turned upside down when you were taken away.”

Benny chuckled, seeming flattered. Apparently, he hadn’t known that his shy childhood companion thought of him quite so fondly. “Sorry… I had to do what had to be done, though; hope you understand that. I wasn’t about to let Madam Mum lose her livelihood, so it had to be me who took the fall for the charges against ‘er and ‘er business. You remember how it was; she raised me when me real mum got sick an’ passed on, so I had to return the kindness. Got to look out for those who give a shite about our sorry selves, eh?”

“Ye-Yes, of course,” Elganon agreed quickly, his tongue tripping over another hurdle of guilt. Now he was really worried about his own moral compass. If Benny hadn’t shown up when he did, would Elganon even be down here looking for Kahira at all, or would he have feared the potential danger and deemed her lost to them? He wanted to believe that he would have brought his team down here all the same to look for her, but he couldn’t trust that he would. After all, if it weren’t for the insistence of his pragmatic patron, he would have left the tieflings to whatever fate that may have come when the goblins arrived at the druid grove. Their troubles had nothing to do with him or his own plight involving the Illithid tadpole worming its way through his brain.

_I’m not a monster_ , Elganon reminded himself mentally; it was a mantra he became all too familiar with, as he told himself this regularly these days. _I’m just afraid. There’s nothing wrong with being honest about my limits. I can’t be expected to just save everyone. I’m only one man._

Except, he wasn’t just one man anymore—he had a party full of perfectly capable people now, and yet he still avoided conflict wherever he could. But was it really reasonable to expect that a band of misfits that had problems of their own to be dealt with should stop and help everyone in need when they had needs of their own that should be met first?

He was rationalizing away his need to take responsibility again.

Shaking the dizzying thoughts out of his head for the moment, Elganon focused on the present once again, not having realized that a silence fell between himself and the half-orc walking with him. He’d even tuned out the chatter of his companions following behind them. Lae’zel and Shadowheart were talking—bickering, really—while Gale and Wyll’s conversation was a lot more cordial and mirthful to take their minds off the eerie atmosphere of the murky tunnels. Meanwhile, the only company Astarion had was the wounded white snake curled around his shoulders, and they were whispering about something. Astarion didn’t sound very happy, but Elganon dismissed it as them having an ultimately harmless, albeit prickly, disagreement in the same vein as what was transpiring between Shadowheart and Lae’zel. In reality, they were discussing Elganon’s familiarity with the half-orc by his side.

“I told you he wasss no good for you,” whispered Charming, the snake. “I told you, but you wouldn’t lisssten to me. You get what you dessserve, vampire.” The serpent struggled to find the right words to use to explain his thoughts. “His sssoul isss…it’sss wrong. Creaturesss like him, well…they ssshouldn’t exist.”

“People say the same thing about _me_ ,” Astarion snapped in a hushed voice. “Who cares if he’s a clone? I can’t tell the difference between him and anyone else. I think I’ve just done something to anger him, perhaps, and this is his way of teaching me a lesson—”

“By Vlaakith,” uttered Lae’zel, her reptilian pupils narrowing into tiny slits. “What is _that_?” She pointed ahead, to a massive fetid heap crumpled up in the middle of the sewer that dammed up the flow of water. It smelled horrible, and it was swarmed by rats that picked and chewed at its rotting flesh.

It was the undead golem stitched together from various humanoid bodies that Elganon, his family, and Astarion had created. Someone or something had returned it to death, and the rats were helping themselves to the spoils.

“Damn it!” Astarion hissed regretfully. “I wanted to name it…” 

He rushed over to have a closer look, shooing away the few rodents that lingered when the group approached. “Eugh. I _hate_ rats.” 

Peering at the massive corpse amalgamation, he noted that the present claw marks resembled Charming’s injuries from the intellect devourer, but there were other wounds as well—those created by weaponry and sorcery. It was a shame that they didn’t have Orebos or Tabalecus with them; they probably could have tried bringing the monster back to life. That would have come in handy under their current circumstances.

“This way,” Benny called out to everyone, waving a hand in the direction of an odd torch-lit chamber that probably didn’t exist until recently. When they entered, they were greeted by the sight of intellect devourers crawling everywhere, and among them, standing over the unconscious deep gnome they were searching for, were a few of Candulhallow’s people. They bore the mark of the Absolute, the mysterious entity that had been pulling the strings regarding this whole mind flayer predicament.

“Raise your hand if you’re surprised,” said Gale in an effort to lighten the grim realization. He looked around at his companions, who were apparently in no mood for his joking. “No one? Me neither.” With a start, he only narrowly avoided a blast of necromantic energy that came arcing past his shoulder as he dodged out of the way.

That was the moment when the party charged into the fray that erupted between themselves and the servants of the Absolute. Weapons were drawn and the beginnings of incantations were uttered, and the intellect devourers went madder than a swarm of disturbed bees. The pack of brain creatures went for Benny, since he was the largest target of the group and the closest to their territory. 

Elganon instantly regretted taking up his usual tactic of casting a Misty Step spell that put him far away from their enemies for the purpose of casting his dark magic from the shadows, since it left his friend all alone. That normally wasn’t an issue with himself and Astarion—it was just good tactics, but he was deeply afraid of losing Benny all over again, this time permanently.

“Astarion, help him!” the half-elf warlock cried out, since the vampiric elf was the nearest potential savior.

Astarion watched as Benny was swarmed by intellect devourers from every angle. The half-orc’s fighting skills were quite impressive; he deflected the swipes from their claws with his short swords, taking on a unique defensive stance that worked well with the awkward bends in his legs. He shuffled back and forth, dodging, parrying, and taking every opportunity to slash at the creatures offensively or kick them away. 

Indeed, Astarion would hate to have to face him in a duel because although his vampirism might ultimately give him the upper hand, he didn’t imagine he’d come out of such an encounter unscathed. But maybe if these horrible brain beasts were to tire the half-orc out…

Before the vampire could finish his thoughts, he heard the footsteps of one of the Candulhallow lackeys behind him and spun on his heel to swipe at them with his dagger. He almost got their neck, too, but they lunged out of the way and tried to bludgeon him with a mace, only to fruitlessly assault him with an arc of wind instead as the attack missed the nimble rogue.

With his free hand, Astarion gingerly grabbed his serpentine familiar by the neck and held its face up to his hooded attacker’s, muttering a spell that made the lackey’s barely-visible eyes gloss over in spontaneous enthrallment. His would-be assailant then dashed in the opposite direction, taking the fight to their own allies instead. Charming wasn’t lying when he claimed to be a powerful ally, so it seemed.

His own hide saved for the time being, Astarion abandoned Benny entirely, pretending to not have heard Elganon’s pleas that were shouted from afar. If the warlock asked later what happened, he would claim just that—that his words were all indiscernible static in the chaos. But in the path that he took to meet up with Shadowheart and Lae’zel on the battlefield, he was waylaid by even more enemies that seemingly came from nowhere. If only Orebos had the coin to hire as many thugs as the Candulhallow family evidently did. As it stood, they had to leave Rook and Vaylen back at the gray dwarf’s tower along with the duergar himself, in case this whole rescue mission was a trap to lure everyone away.

Astarion confidently spoke another incantation, hoping to put the humanoids flanking him to sleep; it had worked before, but not this time. Panic set in.

“You sssaid it wrong, sssmoothbrain,” grumbled the snake. “And now you’ve wasssted all our magic. It’sss “impero”, not “empero”. Well done.” His biting sarcasm served to frustrate the vampire further, as if he weren’t already stressed out enough in this situation.

Filled with terror-induced adrenaline like a cornered animal, Astarion tried his best to do things the old-fashioned way: With blade and with teeth. He could only slash and bite at so many enemies at once, though. They were closing in on him, and with one of them carrying a very large sword, he feared that his inevitable decapitation could come sooner than expected.

It had been a good run. At least he got to be free and bask in the sunlight for a while before it all ended. He even made some friends along the way. Well…friend, singular. Perhaps two, if one counted the snake, but did animals _really_ count, even if they spoke the common tongue?

In a flash of blades, Benny, and shortly after Wyll, had come to his aid in the nick of time, and together they were able to fell Astarion’s foes with ease. And to think, Astarion was more than content to leave the half-orc to die. He hadn’t expected the stranger would do the exact opposite for him when it came down to it. He didn’t expect Wyll to help him out in a time of need like this, either. Many of the self-serving decisions Astarion had made with his team were based on the earnest belief that ultimately, he was truly on his own. This gave him…a lot to think about.

“You good?” asked Benny in between heavy breaths as he wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist.

“Well, I’m not any deader than I was before, if that’s what you’re asking,” Astarion replied condescendingly, getting an attitude simply because he was so shaken by the unanticipated help.

With a sigh, Wyll said to the vampire, “You’re welcome.” Deep down, he wanted to believe that Astarion was more grateful than he let on, but that he hadn’t the courage to confess it plainly.

Their enemies now laying dead all around them, the party was able to regroup where Kahira was being held strapped to a table at the back of the chamber. Gale was in the middle of undoing the magical enchantments that held her there along with the physical bindings, while Elganon was examining her for injury. 

At first, Elganon suspected she had a concussion, but the truth of the matter was far worse: The Absolute's new followers had infected her. She, too, now had a tadpole of her own that was slipped behind her eye socket and embedded into her brain. Now she truly was a member of the group, and without their help, she’d suffer the same fate they would if they didn’t find a cure together.

“I’m so sorry, Kahira. If we were just a little faster…” Elganon covered his mouth with a hand, tears rolling down his face. He couldn’t help but blame himself for all of this. This was surely a result of his neglect to care more for others.

“It’s not your fault, Elg,” she insisted, rubbing at her sore wrists, and taking this all with surprising grace. “I know I’m not s’pposed ta be in the basement in the first place.” She put on a forced grin, displaying sharpened teeth. “Besides, now I’m one of you guys for real!”

“That’s not something to be happy about!” Elganon squeaked, his voice cracking in duress.

Kahira cackled, shaking her head and hopping off the table. “You always were the optimist of our bunch,” she teased playfully, walking over to the half-orc, and smirking up at him. “I see Ben’s back. Been too long. Or rather, _Ben_ too long. Get it?”

Even Gale rolled his eyes at the bad joke, and normally he loved those, being the one who said most of them in their ragtag group. Maybe he should strap her back to the table for that one…

Benny, however, chortled and patted the deep gnome on the head. “Tell me about it. I ain’t goin’ nowhere for a while now, though. Think I’ll stick around, especially if this is the kind of trouble this lot gets up to on the regular.”

“It gets even crazier, trust me,” assured the gnome excitedly. The chaos was why she so desperately wanted to join up with them herself; life in Baldur’s Gate had gotten boring until they came along.

As Astarion noted that Elganon was inching closer to Benny’s side again, smiling up at the half-orc with the sweet expression that he thought was reserved only for himself, he was understandably compelled to use the powers of the Illithid tadpole to peek into his lover’s mind. An old memory began to play out, all the way back from the days when Elganon was merely a child. 

The event must have occurred after the half-elf had obtained a soul from his demonic patron, Murmyr, because he seemed very lively as he chased after the half-orc in a game of tag while Kahira was not far behind him. Elganon had almost touched the taller boy’s back, until he tripped over a loose cobblestone and found himself tumbling over onto the cold, hard streets of the Lower City. His bare knees and palms were rendered a bloody mess as they were torn upon the rough stones, and he began to wail his little lungs out, stopping their game in an instant as the deep gnome and the half-orc both paused to go and see what had happened to their friend.

“Ouch. That looks like it hurts pretty bad,” said Kahira concernedly, unsure of what to do to help him. She could only look to Benny for guidance in this situation; he was the oldest between the three, after all, and probably knew what to do.

“It’ll be alright, Elg,” said the half-orc, who was now scooping up the younger boy into his arms. He was already pretty tall for his age, so it took very little effort for him to lift up the frail half-elven boy. “We’ll take you back to your Da’, and he can fix you up.”

Elganon nodded, whimpering pathetically the entire way as he was taken back to the odd tower that he lived in with Orebos the duergar. Orebos sighed at the sight of his mewling adoptive son and shook his head disappointedly, but he immediately got to work fetching the items he would need to disinfect and bandage the scrapes. While the duergar was tending to Elganon’s bleeding, the half-elf himself leaned his head against Benny’s shoulder and continued to sniffle as the half-orcish boy petted his head comfortingly.

Astarion vividly experienced every emotion that the half-elf felt as he explored the memory deeply despite the throbbing sensation it created in his head.

It was made perfectly clear to him that Elganon loved Benny now just as much as he did back then, and that broke Astarion’s heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Am I crazy? Have I lost ya? Even though I know you love me, can't help it."
> 
> Recommended Listening: Jealous by Nick Jonas


	15. Growing Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heartbroken about the close kinship between the half-orc Benny and his lover, Astarion decides he can't take it anymore and confronts Elganon.

The past few weeks had been excruciating for Astarion ever since the half-orc named Benny came to replace the fallen guards at the tower. He was someone from his lover’s childhood, and every time they were in the same room, Astarion took a backseat to Elganon’s affections for Benny. It was maddening, and slowly eroding their love life, yet whenever Astarion would bring up the subject, Elganon insisted that nothing had changed between them. That was far from the truth, and Elganon was too blinded by daydreams of times past to realize it.

So much about the half-elf’s behavior had changed. At first it was subtle, but now it was too obvious for Astarion to ignore anymore. Whenever they made love, Elganon was unusually distracted. Feeding upon him for a little snack of blood went from being an arousing moment of intimacy to a daily chore in which Elganon nagged Astarion for being too rough or too greedy. When Benny was near, any attempts Astarion made at affection were brushed away and gently chastised with whispers of, “Not now, please.” Elganon wasn’t even interested in their usual “adventures” that they had apart from the rest of their traveling party, in which they took new and old lovers to their bedroom (or elsewhere) for a hedonistic night of fun.

Speaking of the latter, Abdirak came by again today, and as usual, he was asking about why Elganon and Astarion hadn’t visited the temple of his goddess Loviatar as they normally did two or three times out of the month. (It was Elganon’s idea in the first place, and no wonder—Abdirak had this bizarre idea that the man was a messenger of sorts sent from his goddess herself.) Once again, Astarion turned the strange human away, making some new excuse as to why Elganon was out of pocket, and of course, the dejected man lingered for a while mournfully, hoping that Elganon would come downstairs to the apothecary floor and greet him. When Astarion had to shoo him out the front door, Abdirak clawed at his own flesh in grief with his fingernails until it bled profusely, and begged the vampire to: “Please at least ask him to answer my letters.”

Astarion hadn’t realized until he went back upstairs to review the growing pile of letters on Elganon’s writing desk that he actually received quite a few messages from the people they romanced along the way as a couple. Most of them were unopened, and the few that were probably never got a reply; for someone so evidently charismatic, Elganon wasn’t a people person.

If Astarion hadn’t grown so fond of the half-elven warlock, he would have merely been jealous that his eternally beautiful self was being overlooked for someone more youthful, as admittedly he wasn’t all that young when he was bitten and turned into a vampire, but under the current circumstances, Astarion was embittered by how many people—men, women, and everything in between—were asking after his beloved, pining for him. That wasn’t to say that Astarion never got letters of his own—he got plenty, but it was the fact that he was only now noticing how much competition he had that bothered him. He was more than happy to share his lover’s body, but it was his heart that he was unwilling to divide. Unfortunately, it was dawning on him that he had no control over the matter, not in the slightest.

Cazador would laugh in his face if he could see Astarion now, looking so defeated and so broken, and this time without him having to even lift a finger. Astarion had done it all to himself, exactly like how he got into the trouble that landed him in the role of a slave to a sadistic vampire master. He should have known better than to love anyone again. How foolish he was to think that his past sins might have been forgiven by the powers that be—by whomever counted the tally for every good and evil deed each individual did. But then again, did Astarion really ever change? Did he ever learn any lessons from his misdoings? Maybe he did deserve this fate.

_I just want my darling back_ , he thought solemnly to himself, gazing out the window with a hand placed to the glass. A small part of him wished that he was no longer resistant to the sun’s rays. It might have been more merciful if he’d just burnt up here in the fading sunlight. He didn’t truly want to die, he only wished that he could stop hurting. His heart hadn’t beaten in ages, and yet it felt like it was withering little by little every day with each tender smile that was given to the half-orc instead of him.

Astarion paced around the bedroom for a while until he finally decided to sit down on the bed with his hand in his lap. Upon doing a bit of reflection, he realized his needs weren’t really being met lately, and he was terribly starved for an intimate touch. Masturbating alone was as depressing for him as drinking alone, but what else could he do? He was afraid that if he went and got Elganon, his lover would only have sex with him out of obligation, and that would have made him feel worse.

Shamefully, he pulled his trousers down to his thighs and ran his fingers along his flaccid member, trying desperately to coax it into doing _something_. His stomach was in so many knots that he didn’t think he’d ever got an erection, but eventually he did manage to get himself halfway there by dwelling on the more enjoyable intimate moments he had with his partner in the past. He recalled a particular time from back when they and their party were camping out in the forests of Elturgard. 

He and Elganon had made a regular habit of sneaking away from camp as their romance developed to have adventures of their own, usually those of a more private and relaxing nature rather than anything serious like the other dilemmas they faced. Once, when they were about to have sex, as Astarion was in the process of getting his clothes off, Elganon spontaneously decided to make the affair into a sensual game of hide-and-seek.

Elganon was very good at hiding, but his efforts were thwarted when he accidentally cut his foot open while running; sprinting through the forest naked wasn’t one of his better ideas, but it worked out in Astarion’s favor. The vampire managed to track him by the scent of his blood, and came to the rescue to nurse the bloody wound with his mouth until the bleeding stopped, then made passionate love to the half-elf right there in the grass.

Astarion thought he would loathe spending so much time outdoors in the wilderness, but their time together gave him a certain newfound appreciation for nature, although he wasn’t sure if any druid would approve of his approach. He’d have to ask the druid Halsin one day what he thought.

The memory of Elganon hanging onto his neck, panting softly with pink-tinted cheeks, and curling his body and lifting his legs with every desperate thrust that sought to make him one with his lover—to know him, excited Astarion in a way that he hadn’t felt in weeks. He tugged at himself wantonly with his eyes closed, trying to relive the memory as perfectly as he could in both mind and body. It was difficult without his lover there, but his cold hand would just have to do, even if he dreadfully desired the half-elf’s warmth.

He was almost on the verge of coming, but then he began to weep seemingly out of nowhere. His pallid face was drenched in tears in a matter of moments, and his erection flagged in his hand when the mood was ruined for himself. This was just pathetic; he had countless lovers over the span of centuries, and here he was grieving over the loss of a single one—one whose entire lifespan would be but the blink of an eye to him. He never really thought about that before. Half-elves only lived a little over a century on average. 

What’s more was that Elganon was a partial clone of his late father, who had fully intended to have his soul-hop from one new body to another as it aged if he had his way in the end. Did that effect his lifespan even further? Would he live longer? Shorter? How much time did they have left together, even if Elganon decided to stay at his side for the rest of his life? Was it even fair in the first place to ask Elganon to stay with someone who was going to outlive him by leagues? Maybe he deserved to be with someone who he could grow old with…

What was Astarion going to do when Elganon got old, anyway? If he was being honest with himself, he doubted he’d still be sexually attracted to his lover once he became visibly old. That was something else that he had never considered before now. Sure, there was a slim possibility that Astarion could become a true vampire and make Elganon immortal as well, but did he really want to inflict that upon his loved one?

The more he thought about it now, the more he wished he thought about it sooner; this was all a huge mistake he’d made, and for what? He vowed to himself that he’d never make terrible the error of making himself vulnerable to anyone after what Cazador had done to him, but there was just something…so inviting about the warlock. It felt as if he could fall into those beautiful sad eyes of his forever. To indulge in his own sorrows. To be known.

Maybe Elganon found him to be too shallow in his woes—had drained him dry and been left wanting for someone with deeper meaning. Or perhaps, when his self-esteem was lower, Elganon felt he could do no better than someone as cruel as Astarion. Who could say? Regardless of the possible explanation, Astarion was utterly heartbroken, and he was so insecure about himself these days that he didn’t even want to make love to his own hand.

He got up to clean himself at the washbasin and change into more proper attire, finally working up the courage to leave the room he’d kept himself cooped up in nearly all day. He could have easily spent the rest of the afternoon laying in bed feeling sorry for himself, but he knew he had to find some motivation, lest he allow himself to pitifully wither away on the mattress. Would Elganon even notice if he had, or would the half-elf push his lifeless body over to crawl into his side of the bed at night until the corpse started to smell off? Being so pale and chilly to the touch in undeath, Astarion really wouldn’t have blamed him for not knowing the difference between a dead Astarion and a "living" one.

_Alright,_ Astarion thought to himself with a heavy sigh as he adjusted the ruffles in his outfit. _Time to stop being so melodramatic and get on with my night. This might just be a simple dry spell between us, and it could all blow over any day now._

Actually, he had no idea if this was normal or not for a relationship. Despite being around for so long, Astarion hadn’t really taken commitments of any kind all that seriously before. He liked to court people who struck his fancy for a time, and then once he got bored, find a way out of his obligations. Sometimes he would be downright callous and blunt about his break-ups, while other times he might make up some elaborate story as to why he and his romantic interest “couldn’t be together”, as if his love life had suddenly become a tragic play. In either case, it was never his fault, according to him; he simply had the poorest of luck in finding his soulmate.

Just as he was about to leave, Elganon cracked open the door, peeking inside only to be met face-to-face with his lover. That threw him off balance even further than he’d already looked. “Astarion, there you are!” 

Where else did he think he would be? The vampire hadn’t gone anywhere since they woke up. “I was just wondering if, well, I went somewhere for a little while. You know, out.”

In a sad and distant tone, Astarion said, “Sure, darling. I was just getting dressed, so—”

“Oh, I…I meant just me.”

“What?”

“I was going to go by myself, if that was alright.”

Astarion’s forehead wrinkled as his eyebrows lifted. “Alone?”

Elganon’s mouth twitched and his fingers drummed on the side of the door. He swallowed a lump in his throat. “…And Benny.” The blank expression that washed over Astarion’s pale face made the half-elf fret even more. “L-Look, I haven’t really gotten to spend time with it being just him and I; he was my best friend growing up, and I’ve not seen him in _years_!”

The warlock jumped back when Astarion stormed forward and threw the door open wide so that they could stand toe-to-toe. The taller elf glared down at his lover, and Elganon cowered beneath him. “Do you _seriously_ think I’m about to send you off to go hop on his cock while I stay here hoping that you’ll have a mind to come back to me!?”

“What are you talking about, Astarion!?” Elganon yelped, backing away a few more steps, but Astarion had him cornered into a wall now.

The vampiric elf prodded the man’s chest with a finger harshly. “ _I read your mind_.”

Elganon froze, mortified. He hadn’t _felt_ Astarion enter his mind at any point lately. Then again, they’d been using the tadpole’s power so frequently up until recently that the familiar sensations of utilizing its mind-reading capabilities often went unnoticed. “You…knew about my dream all this time?”

“Dream?” Astarion asked, clearly progressing into hysterics. “What dream?” Elganon didn’t answer; he merely stared up at Astarion pleadingly with that doe-eyed expression he always got when he was nervous.

Astarion seized him by the shoulders and shook him hard against the wall. “WHAT DREAM?!” Having lost his patience, Astarion took it upon himself to pierce the warlock’s mind with telepathy once again, combing through the recent memories with the fervor of a madman.

Elganon sobbed at the rush of pain that overwhelmed him, his body thrashing in Astarion’s tight grasp as if he were having a seizure. “Astarion, please stop! We shouldn’t be using the tadpoles anymore—it’s too dangerous!” Blood dripped from one of his nostrils as foam began to form at his lips. “You’re hurting me!” he added, choking on his own bile while his eyes rolled to the back of his head. He went limp and slumped to the floor.

“E…Elganon?” Astarion knelt beside the half-elf, taking the young man’s face into his hands, and patted him on the cheek, trying desperately to wake him up. “Elganon!?”

Gods, what had he done?

“SOMEBODY COME QUICK!” the vampire cried out at the top of his lungs. “S-SOMETHING TERRIBLE HAS HAPPENED!”

He cradled his lover in his arms while sitting next to him on the floor, taking deep and ragged breaths that did nothing to calm him as one of the undead. “Please don’t die,” he begged. “Please don’t die… I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry—this is all my fault.”

* * *

Astarion wrung his hands, nerves completely shot, while standing at Elganon’s bedside as he lay on a cot in the backroom of the apothecary where examinations and minor surgeries were sometimes staged. Elganon hadn’t come to yet, and he feared he may never wake up. Orebos, who had done all he could at the moment to tend to Elganon’s condition, left the room to fetch more potent smelling salts and other supplies, leaving Astarion alone in the room with his unconscious lover…and Benny.

Though Benny nearly always appeared as if he were glaring, Astarion could tell for a fact that he definitely was, right in his direction. Benny knew that despite what Astarion had told Orebos (“I don’t know what happened! He came to check on me, and he just fainted right in the hall!”), the elf was the one responsible for whatever happened to his childhood friend. The guilt was crystal clear on the vampire’s face.

“Don’t stare at me like that, you hideous mongrel. I’m as upset as you are about what’s happened to Elganon,” Astarion snapped, his entire body trembling with stress.

“What did ya do to ‘im?” asked the half-orc, making a great effort to contain his anger. “If I find out that you hurt him…” One of his massive palms rested on the handle of the short sword sheathed on his right hip.

Elganon’s abrupt fit of coughing drew the attention of both men. The half-elf’s head lolled against the stiff pillow, and he couldn’t find the strength to open his tightly shut eyelids. “Mnh…What happened?”

Benny came closer to the cot, moving Astarion over with his other hand to give them space. “Elg, I know you’re in no state for it right now, but I think we ought to have a talk real private-like, you an’ me. Send your man away.” He jerked his thumb towards Astarion.

Elganon’s eyes darted to Astarion, noting the vampire’s “don’t you dare” expression, then peered back up at the worried half-orc. “N-No, it’s alright, Benny.” He coughed again into his fist. When he saw that there were a few small flecks of blood, he hid them and wiped the evidence away on his blouse. “Whatever you have to tell me, you can say it in front of Astarion.”

The half-orc chewed his bottom lip frustratedly at this, but he took the second-best route of leaning down to mumble to the warlock. “I don’t trust that man of yours—he’s a right bastard. I can tell.”

“What are you whispering to him about me, you lying ugly mutt!?” In the heat of unchecked anger, against his better judgment, Astarion charged right at Benny and attempted to grapple him, hoping that his vampiric strength would do him any good. The two men staggered backwards in their struggle, knocking over medical tools, jars, and other miscellaneous items as they stumbled about the room with their arms locked together.

This urged Elganon to sit up straight in his bed and yell, “Stop!” His voice was too hoarse for them to hear him over the racket they were making, so he strained himself even harder the next time. “STOP!!!”

Orebos kicked open the door with supplies bundled up in his arms, and nearly dropped them when he saw what was going on and how much damage had been done to his medical room. “WOT in BLAZES are ye idiots doin’!?”

When they ceased, Benny was on his back on the floor, holding Astarion at bay as he was seeking in vain to claw the half-orc’s eyes out with his bare hands while hissing at him. “Ore! What in the Hells possessed ya to let this…this _monster_ into your home with your son?! He’s a bloody wild animal, for Gods’ sake!”

The duergar sighed and dumped the supplies on a table that _hadn’t_ been overturned, then helped Benny pry the vampire off of him before he got himself bitten or worse. “Frilly’s jest an _idiot_ , Ben. Dunnae pay ‘im no mind—he’ll cool off.”

Astarion sat on the floor in a fury-induced trance, panting hard, curling and uncurling his fingers while he slowly regained his senses. He was sitting close enough to the cot for Elganon to reach a hand down and place it on his back, petting there soothingly. It had been a while since the half-elf had comforted him, and it did help some.

“He’s a bigot with a bad temper,” spat Benny, wobbling awkwardly to his feet with Orebos’ help. The shape of his legs made it more difficult for him to stand once he was knocked prone like that. “Not a good mix, and you know it. ‘Specially in this household.”

“We’re _all_ a lil bigoted, Benny,” said the duergar with his arms held out. He couldn’t believe he was taking up for Mr. Frilly Rumplebottom here, but he was well aware that he had prejudices of his own. “Even ye.”

“I might have _suspicions_ of certain types, but I judge people based on their _actions_. He’s been nothin’ but rotten since I’ve been ‘ere.” The half-orc rubbed at the swelling in his bottom lip where Astarion evidently managed to get a cheap shot in while he was tackled to the ground. “And I ain’t even done nothin’ to the bastard ‘cept save ‘is life!”

_You took Elganon from me_ , Astarion wanted to say, but doubted that the half-orc would understand what he meant. _You came here and ruined everything we had together_. _We were happy!_

Were they? Was everything just as perfect as Astarion imagined? Once more, doubts began to flood the vampire’s mind, nagging at him more than the worm in his brain did.

Astarion looked over his shoulder when he no longer felt the hand on his back. Elganon had sank back down into the cot and was struggling to keep his eyes open while making low groaning noises. The vampire brushed the warlock’s hair out of his face and rubbed his cheek with a thumb, but Elganon’s lips only curled downwards miserably as if he were ill.

“Get some rest, darling,” the elf muttered tenderly. Now that he was lucid again, Astarion was full of regret over his actions, knowing he’d made a complete fool of himself.

Elganon moaned again and rolled over, turning his back to Astarion. “I’ll try not to dream about anything,” he mumbled bitterly. The fact that he remembered what put him on that cot in the first place made the elf wince guiltily and withdraw his hand with a little more respect for his lover’s boundaries. Sometimes Astarion forgot that he wasn’t the only one who had those.

When Astarion got off the floor and left the room, leaving Orebos to finish tending to Elganon in peace, Benny followed behind him—too closely for his liking. Thankfully, when Astarion picked up the pace and went out the front door, the half-orc didn’t pursue him as the vampire expected him to. Astarion believed that a brisk walk around the district might dispel his more troublesome thoughts. He didn’t care for the streets of the Lower City in the slightest, but at least it wasn’t as bad as the Outer City where Elganon’s uncle lived. It would just have to do, since he was in no mood to go all the way to the Upper City.

* * *

If Astarion knew that he was going to practically do a lap around the entirety of the Lower City, he would have reconsidered his dismissal of going to the nicer parts of Baldur’s Gate instead. At least it was easier to find riffraff here that Elganon wouldn’t have minded him feeding from; by the time he was headed back to the tower, he was quite full. The last time he’d struggled to get his fangs on a miscreant must have been a fluke because there were plenty out and about tonight.

For a second, he thought he was hallucinating from the blood of the drunks he’d sampled from because he nearly walked right past a couple that looked exactly like Benny and Elganon, but that couldn’t be right since Elganon was fast asleep in the cot at home. He was, wasn't he?

Astarion took a few paces backwards and squinted his eyes at the pair strolling alongside the harbor. It _was_ them. Elganon was holding onto one of Benny’s arms as they walked, and the half-orc was pointing at the Temple of Umberlee off in the distance with his free hand, then gestured at the large ship on the other side of the harbor while he rambled on about something that Astarion couldn’t quite hear as he tried sneaking closer in their direction without being seen.

The vampire couldn’t stand to see how enraptured his beloved was with whatever tale the half-orc was telling him, but he steeled his nerves and focused on tailing them stealthily. Soon, he was near enough to come into earshot of their ongoing conversation without them being any the wiser to his presence.

“Good to see that not much has changed since my imprisonment,” said Benny with a toothy smile. He’d forgotten that sheerly because of his height, even with his disability, he took longer strides than Elganon could with his much shorter legs, and he had to catch the half-elf as the young man almost stumbled over when Benny outpaced him. “Careful…Careful… You still seem lightheaded. You’re sure you don’t want me to take you back home?”

Elganon shook his head no. It brought Astarion some peace of mind to know that hopefully the only reason his lover was clinging to Benny was because he couldn’t keep upright underneath his own power. “I think it’s all the water out here that makes me dizzy,” Elganon answered with a nervous titter. “Just looking at it makes me seasick.”

Benny chortled as well, resting a palm on the half-elf’s head fondly for a moment, and walking more slowly from here on out. “Guess it’s a good thing we never became pirates like you, me, and Kahi used to say we always would,” he teased.

The warlock snorted and rolled his eyes bashfully. “You and Kahi were the ones that wanted to be pirates. I wanted to be a druid.”

“Oh, tha’s right! Forgot all about that. An’ then Kahi said: “Well, you’d better become a sea druid because we’re going to be pirates, like it or not!” An’ then you told ‘er somethin’ about how fish aren’t great conversationalists, that the smell of salt water made you nauseous, and that it wasn’t your style.” Benny snickered at the distant memory.

Elganon’s smile took on a sad nature as his gaze wandered to the cobblestone they walked upon. “I miss when we were children. Life was simpler back then.”

“Ah, Elg,” the half-orc patted his back, but not with the full strength he normally used when dealing with people who had a bit more constitution than Elganon did. “You always were young at heart. Always liked that about you. Kahi and I always wanted to grow up too fast. Not you, though.”

Though it was meant as a compliment, it made the warlock appear crestfallen at the idea that maturity-wise, he was seemingly always so behind his peers, having lived such a sheltered lifestyle that he was never keen on leaving until he had no choice but to in recent months. Astarion recognized the sentiment in his eyes; he, too, was often considered very immature for his age when compared to others. Perhaps that was why it was easy for Astarion to forget that Elganon hadn’t had the same amount of time as he did to experience the world and all it had to offer—including experiences in the realm of romance and courting.

The half-elf and the half-orc stopped in their tracks when they saw something that was a peculiar sight in Baldur’s Gate: A stray dog sniffing around. The hound looked up in Elganon’s direction and opened its maw to pant cheerfully while wagging its tail. It barked a few times, and Elganon’s expression brightened in an instant. He ran to it with a newfound jolt of energy and knelt to pet the dog, itching behind its ears.

“Scratch! How did you get here?” the warlock asked, giggling when his face was licked. He stopped to listen to the proceeding barks; evidently the canine was speaking to him, but Astarion nor Benny couldn’t understand a bit of it like Elganon could. Charming was the only animal they knew of that they could all understand because the serpent in question was a familiar that could speak the common tongue.

“Friend of yours?” Benny approached the dog carefully so as to not spook it, but he didn’t crouch down—probably because he might have a hard time getting back up again.

Elganon nodded at his companion happily. “He said he followed me all the way here from Elturgard. I can’t believe it! I told him he probably ought to stay at the druid grove out there with the other animals since dogs are frowned upon here, but he missed us terribly and eventually decided to trace our tracks here to Baldur’s Gate.” He turned his attention back to Scratch, whom he was scratching under the jaw of now. “I’m really glad you came to see me, boy, but if the city watch sees you, you’ll be in big trouble! You’d better run along.”

The dog whimpered and lowered its body to the ground pleadingly, making its round eyes wider and twitching its brow sadly, then pawed at Elganon’s lap.

“Doesn’t look like ‘e wants to,” said Benny with an endeared grin. He bent over low enough to at least give the dog a firm pet with one of his broad palms that the animal enjoyed, stretching out its back muscles like it was being given a deep tissue massage. “Tell you what, Elg, I’ll see if Mum would take ‘im in. Keep ‘im hid from the city watch when they’re on patrol. You know she don’t care all too much about “professionalism” an’ all that snooty rubbish—the customers an’ her boys an’ girls alike would probably be a lot more chipper with a dog around keepin’ folks company in the tavern area downstairs. Might feel safer with a guard dog, too, since most of Mum’s muscle are rented out elsewhere right now.”

“That’s a great idea!” gasped Elganon, standing up and hugging his friend around the waist tightly. “Thank you so much! Do you hear that, Scratch? You can stay!”

The dog shot up and bounced on its paws, spinning around once in a circle, and gave the pair a sharp bark of appreciation. Elganon got back down on his knees and embraced the dog, rubbing their foreheads together and enjoying in the feeling of the canine’s soft, if matted, fur. Astarion resented himself for getting so sentimental at the sickeningly sweet scene, but he told himself there was no harm in indulging in the less cynical moments in life.

Astarion followed as Benny and Elganon led Scratch back to the brothel, but he didn’t deign to go inside. Instead, he would keep an eye on them through one of the cracks between a window’s barely parted curtains. It all seemed extremely silly to him now that this whole time, he expected to eventually catch his lover and the half-orc kissing—or doing more than that—but no such thing happened the entire night as he stalked them here all the way back to the tower. He was worried for nothing, as Elganon turned out to be true to his word that they really were just going out for a bit as friends.

* * *

* * *

The next night when Astarion was out on his own, hunting for sources of blood as usual, his mind was a lot calmer. The idea of Elganon and Benny sneaking off for a secret love affair barely crossed his thoughts as he weaved through the shadows of the alleyways with uncanny grace that had been restored along with part of his confidence. Yes, there was a good chance, after all, that his relationship with Elganon would mend in time. Astarion only needed to relax and take on a more positive attitude about things.

He figured that while he was out, he may as well go through the hidden alley that lead to the brothel and see if he could find the dog. After doing some thinking, he realized that although he couldn’t understand the dog's speech, perhaps it could understand him if he spoke to it; he had an apology to make to the animal. In the past, it never occurred to him exactly how much the creature meant to Elganon. To Astarion, it was merely a pest or a potential meal. In retrospect, he and Elganon did have a falling out regarding his treatment of the animal, but Astarion didn’t see it as that until now.

One afternoon, back in Elturgard, when he was getting ready to go out into the forest, Astarion caught the dog chewing up his boots and gave Scratch a swift kick to shoo him away, then yelled at the creature until it ran off to hide in Wyll’s tent. Elganon behaved in a very depressed manner around Astarion for a while after that, but whenever the vampire asked about what was wrong, the warlock was very vague about what troubled him and Astarion shrugged off the whole thing, taking the man’s word that “it was nothing”.

Astarion still didn’t care much for animals, but at the very least, he would make things right by Elganon. If this dog meant so much to him, he would learn to love it for his partner’s sake.

To his luck, he found the dog sleeping right outside of the brothel, curled up on the ground peacefully with its head resting against its outstretched paws. He leaned down to scratch behind its ears, thinking it was going to wake up and bite him when it recognized who he was. Instead, it was much worse: The dog’s body was cold as ice. It was stone dead.

“Sc…Scratch?” Astarion felt faint. He had to be imagining things. It was very cold outside this time of night, after all! Perhaps the dog was just cold from the weather…

He turned the animal’s head to examine it, and what he saw made him even more ill. Small twin holes marred its neck between a bloodied part in Scratch’s fur. A vampire had drained the poor dog dry.

“Astarion?” was uttered in disbelief by a voice that was now familiar to him.

He wasn’t the only one who’d come to check up on the dog. So had Benny.

Weak in the knees, Astarion almost lost his balance when he stood upright, backing away from the animal. “It’s not what it looks like, I swear!” he stammered as the half-orc gripped the hilt of one sword.

“Tell me you fuckin’ didn’t, you prick…” With each step Benny took forward, Astarion took two steps back. “Why in the Nine Hells would you kill Elg’s fuckin’ _dog_? What did it do to you, eh? Take up too much of ‘is attention?!”

“It wasn’t me who killed it! It was like this when I got here, I promise you! It…It must have been…” Cazador. It had to be Cazador’s doing. This was _exactly_ the kind of game that his master would play with him to ruin his life. So, he _did_ know that Astarion was in the city…

“I ought to gut you right ‘ere an’ now. I _knew_ you were a monster. I fuckin’ _knew_ it,” the half-orc hissed, drawing his blade. 

Astarion was about to turn around and take off into a sprint, but Benny grabbed him by the throat with his other hand, which was large enough to engulf all of the elf’s neck, and pinned him to one of the adjacent buildings. The vampire pulled at the fingers around his throat with both of his hands, craning his neck and kicking his feet as he was held high above the ground. If he needed oxygen to live, the situation would have been even more dire, but that hardly made matters any less severe.

“Why Elg? Why is it ‘im you chose to torment? ‘Cause he’s an easy target? ‘Cause he trusts you? What do you get out of this, you bastard?” Benny demanded, holding the tip of his blade inches away from Astarion’s abdomen.

Freeing himself from the half-orc’s mighty grip with his hands was of no use, so Astarion quickly reached for his dagger and slashed open Benny’s forearm. Blood splattered everywhere, and he licked his lips when some of it sprayed onto his sallow face. The half-orc screamed angrily and clutched the cut tightly when he let go of the elf. Astarion thought he could run, but this time he was seized by the back of the head and slammed face-first into a stone wall.

The vampire cried out when he bit the inside of his own cheek and his vision went white in one eye as a shockwave of pain surged through him. He squirmed and flailed the arm that held his dagger, but Benny put his own blade away to wrench Astarion’s arm behind his back and make him drop the dagger. It seemed to be the elf’s destiny to be killed at the hands of the type of people he looked down on.

Blood dribbled down the corner of the vampire’s mouth from the bite on the inside of his cheek, spilling down the collar of his frilled doublet. He laughed weakly at the ironic situation he found himself in, and nearly started to cry as he imagined how enthused Cazador would be when he discovered how his unruly spawn met his end. His only regret was that he didn’t have the chance to tell Elganon how sorry he was for being such a bastard to him in between all the good times they shared together.

Astarion waited for the moment in which he expected his head would be bashed into the hard wall until it was smattered in gore, bone fragments, and his fluffy near-white hair, but it never came. Benny was hesitant, but why? Was death not what he deserved?

“…If you didn’t do it, then who did?” was the question that came from the half-orc’s lips.

“My master,” Astarion said urgently. “Or one of his other vampiric slaves he sends out to do his bidding. There’s no way that this is a mere coincidence—I’m being _framed_.”

“Y’know,” Benny began, loosening his grip on the elf’s head a tad—only enough so that it wasn’t painful. “I used to hear rumors about the city being infested with vampires. Once or twice somebody would run into the brothel, not lookin’ for sex, but for sanctuary. “It’s not safe out there,” they’d say. “Somethin’s tryin’ to kill me. And it was a _person_ with red eyes and sharp teeth. They tried to drink my blood, I tell ya!” Never believed it myself, but…”

The half-orc laughed, shaking his head. “Thought you were albino or somethin’ when I first saw you, ‘til I saw the teeth. “Can’t be,” I thought. “They _do_ exist.” And then, Elganon told me all about what you were. Said that you could be trusted, that ‘e loved you, an’ that he was tryin’ to help save you from your master that wants to take you back.” Even though Benny kicked the dagger away, he finally let go of Astarion carefully, watching for any sudden suspicious movements. 

“So, you _do_ believe me,” said Astarion, wiping the blood off his face with a palm.

“Not really,” Benny grunted. “But Elg trusts you, an’ it’s his call. We’re goin’ back to the tower, you an’ I, an’ you’re gonna explain the whole thing to Elganon. See what 'e says, an’ go from there.”

“I see,” the vampire murmured grimly. At least there was hope that he’d be spared. Surely his lover wouldn’t throw him under the wagon and still had faith in him. Chances were, if he tried to escape again, he wouldn’t be given a second chance if the half-orc managed to catch him. It was better to go along with this. “Very well. Lead on.”

Benny placed a hand on Astarion’s back as they walked together in the direction of Elganon’s home. Any onlooker might think they were good friends, but really Benny had his hand close to the scruff of Astarion’s neck, ready to grab him again should he try to run. It was preferable to being hauled off kicking and screaming.

Astarion couldn’t help but give one final glance back at the deceased dog as it lay in its eternal slumber, as if it were waiting on its owner’s return.

_Elganon, please forgive me. I didn’t mean for you to get dragged down into my suffering._

As it’s always been said, misery loves company, and Astarion was such a lonely soul. All he ever wanted since Cazador began to torment him was for someone he could confide in. He never realized that in doing so, he’d be bringing that person down with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, circumcise my love for you. It's far too vapid and aimless. I wanna be painless. Love soldier, I want closure."
> 
> Recommended Listening: Cupid by Jack Stauber


	16. Please Believe Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being taken back to the tower by Benny, Astarion is forced to confront Elganon and argue for his innocence regarding what happened in the alleyway that night.

It was a while before Elganon could bring himself to stop weeping over the news about his dog and muttering repetitively how he wished the animal would have simply remained in the druid grove in Elturgard. He was in hysterics, rocking back and forth in his chair at the dining table where Benny and Astarion had decided to take him to break the news in private since everyone else had turned in for bed at this hour, perhaps save for Benny’s fellow hired guards Rook and Vaylen, who were probably lurking somewhere in the tall tower and keeping watch for trouble.

“Astarion says he didn’t kill Scratch. Says it was his…vampire lord’s doing, or one of his lackeys.” Benny hated to interrupt his friend’s grieving, but the matter needed to be settled right here and now if he was ever going to get any peace of mind. He wouldn’t tolerate having a dangerous predator around if Astarion turned out to be guilty, after all. It was his job to handle such things, and it’d weigh on his conscience heavily if something horrible and irreversible were to happen to Elganon, his family, or his other companions.

The vampire himself got down on one knee and clasped his hands together pleadingly in front of the crying half-elf, speaking very earnestly. “You have to believe me, dearest. I know this looks bad, but I swear it wasn’t me. I’d never spite you like this over a lovers’ tiff.”

“I-I d-don’t know wh-what you mean, Astarion—” Elganon sniffed, drying his eyes only for tears to keep pouring down behind each droplet he wiped away. With his black eye makeup almost totally gone from all the sobbing, the gray tint that was left behind on his eyelids made him look terminally sick, especially with all the redness in and around his eyes. “Thi-Things are _fine_ between us, it’s just—”

“Darling, no they’re not, and you know it.” Astarion pulled Elganon’s hands away from his face and held them in his own; he didn’t want the warlock to rub his face raw. “But I intend on making it all up to you. I’m not yet sure _how_ I’ll manage that, but—”

“Astarion, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt ‘ere an’ say it’s unintentional, but you’re bein’ manipulative,” Benny interjected with a deep frown directed towards the vampire. “Back off for a moment an’ give ‘im some space, will ya?”

The elf scowled harshly, deeply offended by the accusation. Although, as reluctant as he was to admit it, the half-orc was right—he was inadvertently bargaining with the man. Letting go of Elganon’s hands, he got back to his feet and went to go take a seat on the other side of the table where his lover wouldn’t feel so crowded by his imposing presence. Elganon gave him a small thankful smile as he folded his hands in his lap meekly. That was good—maybe Astarion _would_ figure this whole “respecting personal boundaries” thing out.

…He really badly wanted to drag his chair over to Elganon’s side and hold the weepy half-elf in his arms and smother him with kisses at the sight of that little smile and those sorrowful eyes, but he would resist the urge, no matter how much it compelled him, for Elganon’s sake. It wasn’t easy, but he stayed put where he was and made an effort not to leer at the man too much.

_Boundaries, Astarion_ , he told himself. He wasn’t used to there being any sort of wall between them at this point in their relationship, but he supposed it was necessary sometimes, lest he totally overwhelm the poor warlock. Elganon had struggles of his own. It wasn’t all about Astarion and his plight, even if his problems were a little more pressing.

The way Elganon put one of his hands on the table and scooted it closer to Astarion’s gave the elf the impression that some sympathy was being felt for him, even though they were sitting too far apart for their hands to be even remotely close to touching. The vampire knew it couldn’t possibly do so, but he imagined his own deadened heart fluttering in his chest. It brought Astarion’s mind back to when he first realized he had feelings for Elganon. He told himself that he merely saw the man as handsome and thought he’d be an interesting lay, but it was more than that. He’d allowed himself to fall in love again.

_Please believe me. Please love me again._ _I need you._

Astarion closed his eyes, sighing through his nostrils as he rubbed his face with his palms exasperatedly, elbows propped up on the table. He knew he couldn’t stop staring at Elganon, and he didn’t want to influence his decision too much by making the half-elf pity him.

Elganon craned his head towards Benny and said, “Astarion told me a while back that he doesn’t like to feed on animals. They taste disgusting to him. I don’t think he did it, Benny. He only drinks from animals when he’s desperate these days, and there’s no shortage of people in this city.”

Benny placed his hands on his hips, appalled by the grim alibi. “Oh, well _that’s_ comfortin’ to know, I guess.”

Elganon didn’t think of the implications until he witnessed his friend’s reaction. “Don’t worry, he only drinks from bad people.”

“What’s ‘is definition of “bad”? ‘Cause I think a lotta folk might call most people we know “bad” on a technical level,” the half-orc pointed out, tapping his foot impatiently. Elganon wasn’t doing a great job of making Astarion’s case; he’d be terrible at any kind of career in law, that was certain.

“People that might potentially do us or the ones we love harm,” Elganon clarified. That was slightly better, Astarion supposed…

“That’s still fairly… What’s the word?” Benny waved his hand as if searching for the word physically. “Nebulous?”

_Articulate for a half-orc_ , Astarion thought. No, wait. If he was going to do better, he shouldn’t be thinking like that. Elganon clearly took umbrage whenever he’d say such things, and to even humor them in his mind made it easier for those kinds of ideas to come tumbling out of his mouth when he wasn’t being vigilant about what he was saying.

Gods, this was going to be hard. It nearly brought Astarion physical pain to have to make this much of an effort to change his habits. It wasn’t going to be an overnight thing, he knew, but it was certainly going to take a lot of mindfulness that he otherwise wouldn’t expend the energy on. Being a good person was such tiresome and dreadful work, like moving heavy furniture or doing any other menial task that people with any sense had servants for. Why did anyone ever bother? It mystified him.

But if things between himself and Elganon could go back to the way they were before, Astarion would do everything in his power to change his bad behavior for the better. He would! He might have squandered several opportunities in his lifetime to turn over a new leaf, but this time would be different. Honestly!

“I trust Astarion,” Elganon said conclusively with a nod and a more confident smile. His eyelids had become swollen from all the crying, but his nerves had settled for the most part, trembling hands aside. “He’s made some mistakes—er…some of them quite large, but I’d like to think we can work past it all. I’d say he’s one of us now, and we don’t just abandon our own.”

Was it guilt that Astarion saw manifest in Elganon’s expression when he’d said that? He must have felt bad about running off from home prior to being abducted by the mind flayers. Apparently, the dilemma with Benny and Astarion wasn’t the first time he’d struggled to determine his loyalties for one reason or another. The young man never really got to the opportunity to figure out who he was and what he wanted out of life, had he? After living with Elganon in his childhood home for a while, Astarion could understand why that was. Nearly everything was determined _for_ him by his more assertive elders and peers. 

Orebos, Uncle Tabalecus, or anyone else with some authority over him would tell Elganon to do something, and with a begrudging sigh, he’d do it regardless of how he actually felt. He might complain or argue a little, but in the end, he’d roll over to any command that was insistent enough. That didn’t leave much room for developing decision-making skills or independence. 

Sadly, Astarion now wondered if he did the same thing to the half-elf time-to-time. He thought he was being helpful by resolving his lover’s penchant for indecisiveness for him whenever the need arose, but what if he was frustrating him and making him feel incapable of making his own choices?

Benny crossed his arms, assessing the vampire with skepticism, but he yielded to Elganon’s judgment with a shrug. “It’s your call, Elg,” he said, and Astarion now understood that the half-orc was assuring Elganon that he had full control over the matter, despite the fact that Benny’s heart was clearly not entirely on board with the decision. “If you say ‘e’s one of us now, then fair do’s.”

Astarion nearly bolted when Benny approached him, fearing that his agreement was an act. He settled back down into his chair when it became apparent that the half-orc had only extended his arm to offer a handshake, not to crush his throat.

“Apologies for the misunderstandin’, Astarion. Hope you can see where I was comin’ from, though,” the towering man said.

It was unambiguous that Benny thought Elganon’s judgment was a mistake, and even Astarion himself sort of agreed with him in the back of his mind. But maybe every once in a while, Elganon needed to make his own mistakes, and it was their duty as people who cared about him to support his decisions—to be there to help clean up the mess when it all went tits up. Astarion wasn’t sure on this, since he never actually had any true friends in the centuries he’d lived, but he was following Benny’s lead.

A gasp shot from the vampire’s throat when, at the moment of grasping Benny’s hand, he was yanked forward so that their faces were only inches apart. Benny’s bulging eyelids narrowed in forced endearment as the half-orc warned, “Try to be less of a prick from now on, eh? It’s easier than you think.”

Elganon’s sad face was direly serious in that “eerie calm before the storm” way Astarion now recognized. It seemed he’d cried every tear that he had in him for the moment. “Benny…”

The half-orc’s lips peeled back into a pained cordial smile that emphasized the large split in his upper lip that exposed his teeth. It was a silent agreement that he’d try once again to be buddy-buddy with Astarion for Elganon’s sake in lieu of his apprehension about the undead man. As Astarion mirrored the expression, burdened wrinkles appeared at the corners of the vampire’s eyes and darkened the barely noticeable purple veins that crawled along the skin there, bringing him closer to revealing his true age. Setting their differences aside wasn’t going to be an easy task for either man, but it was a prerequisite for being on good terms with the half-elf they were so fond of.

“Not to worry, Elg,” said Benny, taking his hand back and slipping it into his trouser pocket. “All in the past. I think your man an’ I just got off on the wrong foot, is all. No harm in a do-over, eh?”

Elganon nodded in agreement, focusing on Astarion with an aura of pride and dignity that he was normally lacking—probably because he was actually being listened to and taken seriously for once. “I would like that. It hurts me to see you two fight. I care a lot about you both, and it’d mean a lot to me if you two could learn to trust each other. If Cazador really is involved in all this, us turning on one another is _exactly_ what he wants.”

Benny arched an eyebrow inquisitively at Elganon. “You ever met this Cazador bloke?”

The warlock shook his head. “N-No, but…” How to even explain this, he wondered? “This is going to sound strange, but I saw him once.”

Chair legs scraped across the stone floor loudly when Astarion jumped up from his seat, planting his palms against the surface of the table in his urgency. “What!? Why didn’t you ever tell me this!?” The idea alone of his beloved encountering that monster in any capacity made him feel faint.

“I thought I was imagining things at first, but now I’m sure of it,” Elganon explained, tangling a strand of his stringy hair around his trembling fingers.

“ _Where_?” Astarion demanded, slamming his hands against the table.

“You’re going to laugh…or think I’m crazy, but…” Elganon stalled, convulsing his mouth anxiously. “It was when I was in my patron’s realm, waiting for Murmyr to return from his hunt so that we could have our afternoon tea.”

Benny covered his face with a palm, shaking his head and sighing. “Gods, Elg… I thought you were old enough by now to be past the whole “imaginary friend” thing…” The way Elganon used to always babble about some invisible humanoid sheep-being concerned the mercenary deeply when the childish fantasy continued well past their youth. He knew his childhood companion was innocently immature and lonely, but him keeping an imaginary friend at this age was worrying.

“Murmyr’s _real_ —I swear it. Astarion can back me up on this,” Elganon insisted, pointing at the vampire, who nodded grimly. Though he hadn’t ever confessed to Elganon about his secret little journey to the creature’s realm, Astarion saw the creature with his own two eyes in-person. “But, yes, I’m _positive_ that the person I saw was Cazador. He just appeared standing there in the mist, staring at me silently like he was measuring my worth, or something. Then he tilted his head at me and smirked—it made my skin crawl the way he was looking at me.”

Elganon closed his eyes, trying to relive the memory to recall more of the details. “Then, he came closer, running a hand along the tablecloth as he circled the table until he stood right next to me. He tilted my chin up and forced me to look into his crimson eyes. They were so piercing. I couldn’t look away even if I tried. He—”

All of his composure had drained from his body, leaving the half-elf a shivering mess. Both Astarion and Benny came closer to him, standing on either side of the young man should he need their support. When he opened his eyes again, he was turned towards Astarion and his eyes were wet underneath. “He said that it was amusing how much I resembled him, in a way. S-Said that it was a sign that he was still on your mind, Astarion. Then, he turned my chin away with a hard jerk, eyed me like a predator preparing to strike at its prey, and left without saying another word. I thought he was going to try to kill me, but I don’t think that he could because I wasn’t actually physically there—I was only there in spirit.”

Astarion’s blood roiled with rage at the implication that he only saw Elganon as a cheap placeholder for his master’s visage. That _did_ sound like something Cazador would say, and now he truly believed that Elganon saw what he claimed to.

“You were probably just dreamin’, Elg,” Benny assured him with a pat on the shoulder.

Elganon’s muscles tensed up as he bristled at the doubt. “No. It was _real_. I _know_ it.”

Astarion had to sit down in the chair beside Elganon’s, lest he lose balance and fall flat on his face. He was shaking even worse than the warlock was at the news. What if Cazador found his way to the demon’s realm because Astarion had been there to snoop around not too long ago? He might have been trying to retrace his wayward vampire spawn’s steps in the hopes of catching him and bringing him back to his horrific estate. Astarion chastised himself for not foreseeing this outcome—he should have been more careful. Now he’d put Elganon at risk because of his reckless behavior.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about it sooner, Astarion,” said Elganon regretfully, reaching down into the vampire’s lap to couple their hands together. “I didn’t want to worry you, especially since it only happened once so far.”

_“So far_ ,” Astarion repeated bitterly. He knew better than to think that Cazador would stop at once. “Don’t ever hide something like this from me again, Elganon. You’re right to say that he could have killed you, even if you _weren’t_ there in body.” He swallowed audibly. “O-Or worse…” He honestly didn’t know the full extent of his master’s true power, and feared that even over the past two centuries, he might have only seen a fraction of it.

“Elg,” Benny sighed, unsure of what to make of all of this. “You lead such a weird life, I swear.” He couldn’t help but laugh. “Not gonna lie—that’s somethin’ I started to miss when I was in prison. Life’s never borin’ when you’re around, an’ it’s weird, ‘cause you’re the last person anybody’d suspect of havin’ an excitin’ life. No offense.”

Turning his head, Elganon laid his other hand on Benny’s forearm with a tender and amused smile. “Isn’t _that_ the truth?”

Even with his mind still lingering on the encounter with Cazador, an odd sense of relief washed over the half-elf as a result of his physical nearness with the two men. They clearly hated each other, yet the fact that their love for him overcame that sentiment made him feel comforted. Protected.

Whatever Cazador had planned, they would face it together, even if the rest of their party had concerns of their own.

* * *

* * *

The following days got better, and although Benny and Astarion would frequently get snippy with one another, they weren’t outright fighting like mad dogs anymore. Some days, they could even carry on a conversation that wasn’t terribly laden with sarcasm or bitterness. Elganon was very happy about that, and in time his usual intimacy with Astarion crept closer to their old normal, though he remained bashful about public shows of affection, particularly when Benny was present. Astarion had half a mind to ravish his partner right in front of the half-orc one of these days as a show of owning the warlock’s heart, but he was fortunately well aware that it would land him right back at square one with rekindling his relationship with Elganon.

Things weren’t perfect by any means, but at least Faerûn hadn’t become the tenth new level of the Hells. That was a good start.

Elganon was behind the apothecary’s service counter putting together customer orders when his traveling companions came downstairs with Gale at the lead. The half-elf hated being disturbed by noise when he was trying to do delicate work, but something about the air of purpose the group walked with told him that they were being gathered together for something important. Even Charming, the snake familiar, slithered up Astarion’s leg and onto the vampire’s shoulders; the serpent had a tendency to disappear whenever he pleased, they quickly learned.

“I could’ve used you and your magic about a tenday ago,” Astarion complained privately to the white snake as Elganon came around the counter to stand beside him in the circle of friends gathering around Gale. “Benny attacked me, the brute.” He made sure that Elganon didn’t hear that last part, keeping his voice very low.

“You know that you can cassst magic without me, right?” asked the snake in a bemused manner.

Astarion winced. “Yes, but I may have used all my spells on the vagrants and troublemakers I came across that night prior to my encounter with him. I needed to make it easier to feed from them without drawing attention, you see…”

Charming whipped the back of the vampire’s messy curls with his tail. “Dummy. Fool. Sssimpleton.”

Batting at the tail with a hand, Astarion retorted, “Alright, I get the picture! You don’t have to rub it in, you mean little noodle.” He began to sulk, puffing up his cheeks in a manner that he picked up from spending a great deal of time around Elganon. He did cheer up when the half-elf took him by the hand and smiled up at him, blissfully unaware to the conversation he was having with Charming. Astarion smiled back just as fondly.

Gale coughed into his fist to get everyone’s undivided attention. Once all eyes were on him, he clasped his hands together and paced about thoughtfully. “Now that everyone’s here, I have an announcement to make. I know that we’ve often had our hopes raised by several promises to cure us of our…tadpole predicament, but I’ve made a discovery that just may prove useful _if_ the research that Charming and I have been conducting is accurate, which I’ve little doubt that it isn’t.” He grinned and pointed at the serpent around Astarion’s neck.

So, _that_ was where the snake had slithered off to. It made Astarion jealous to think that his newfound familiar might have taken more of a liking towards Gale. True, Astarion barely got along with the creature, but that was _his_ magical little beast; he wasn’t about to share a source of potential power with anybody else when _he_ needed it more.

The wizard at the center of attention continued. “There’s an ancient abandoned underground research facility not too far from the city, apparently, that specialized in research considered too dangerous to conduct elsewhere. Hard to say what lead to its abandonment, and I know what everyone’s probably thinking right now without even having to invoke the little wriggler in our brains—”

Benny raised a hand. “’Cept for me.”

“Yes, except for Benny, our poor wormless outcast, I’m sorry to say,” Gale added jokingly, which the half-orc snickered over. “Anyway, you’re probably all thinking: Gale, if it’s abandoned, that probably means something very horrible happened. Probably an experiment gone wrong.” The corners of the wizard’s mouth twitched into a frown. “You’re probably right, but it’s a risk we have little choice but to take. We’re running low on options, so we should explore new ones wherever and whenever we can. Not to mention that I’m not sure how much longer I can keep sustaining the volatile magic-eater in my chest from Baldur’s Gate. I haven’t absorbed any of the magic I need to sustain it in days, so at the very least, this place is worth checking out if only to see if there might be anything there to remedy that.”

Lae’zel, the githyanki, scowled at the wizard. “Of course, this is more about _you_ than us,” she snapped. “Such a waste of my time. We should instead be—"

“Your precious _creche_ isn’t going to help us,” the cleric Shadowheart interjected firmly, invoking Lae’zel’s ire that was now directed towards her instead. “I, for one, want to see what promise Gale’s idea holds. We won’t know until we go and see for ourselves.”

“Hear, hear,” Wyll concurred, casting his vote in favor of Gale’s plan as well.

“Astarion?” Elganon looked to his lover for guidance as he often did, but this time didn’t receive it.

“What do _you_ think, darling?” Astarion asked, entwining their fingers in the hopes that the affection would bolster his partner’s courage to decide for himself.

Elganon chewed his lip nervously. “M-Me? I…I don’t know… I don’t suppose we have much choice.” His eyes almost rolled to the back of his head, alerting Astarion to the fact that he was about to fall back on his demonic master’s advice if he wasn’t going to get any from the vampire. 

Astarion quickly tapped Elganon on the shoulder to keep him grounded and in the mortal realm. “There’s _always_ a choice, dear. It’s up to you. Tell the others what you think. You’re our leader, aren’t you? It’s your call.”

The half-elf’s face went flush at the thought of speaking his mind and telling the entire group what to do. It was more his style to persuade or suggest, not outright _command_. That was Lae’zel’s thing, if it was anyone’s.

Now everyone was staring at Elganon, even Gale. Why did Astarion have to speak so loudly?

“I-I, er…” Elganon withered in his discomfort from all the eyeballs peering his way. It was hard not to believe that he was being judged. “I also agree. As much as I’d rather stay at home where it’s safer, it won’t be safe for long if we all start turning into mind flayers one of these nights. We should at least give Gale’s plan a _chance_. If we don’t like what we see when we turn up to the entrance, we can always turn back.” He paused, disliking the fact that he’d made such a bold statement. “…Probably.”

Lae’zel hissed. “ _Probably_ , says the spineless one.” She muttered something harsh in the gith language under her breath with a dismissive wave of her arm. “Let it be done, then. Once you all see that this is a fool’s errand, we can get back on track with following a plan that holds _actual merit_.”

The team was put on-edge when the door to the basement burst open. Weapons were drawn in the expectation that on the other side would be another intellect devourer or worse, but it was just Kahira the goblin-esque deep gnome, rubbing her eyes tiredly and yawning while clutching a stuffed potato sack that had a crudely-drawn face on it.

Elganon exhaled to calm himself, then said, “Kahira, were you sleeping in the basement again? Even though we expressly told you _not to_?”

“No,” she said, suddenly wide awake. “…Maybe…Yes. Somebody’s gotta be a lookout for more of those brain things!”

Benny waved at her, as if to remind her that it was _his_ job (along with the other two guards lurking about the place, always somewhere nearby, but rarely ever seen or heard) to do that and that he didn’t really need her help.

Kahira began to panic out of an inability to come up with a better excuse. She decided to blurt out the truth. “Alright, I only go down there to lick the mold off the walls. Happy?”

“You can’t be serious,” Astarion mumbled with a disgusted grimace.

“It’s delicious and moist!” Kahira explained, but it only grossed out everyone in the room further. They didn’t understand fine cuisine like she did. “A-Anyway, I overheard the part about everyone goin’ on an adventure. Can I come with?”

“No,” said Elganon. “It’ll be dangerous.”

“You could die,” added Astarion. Then, he smiled, displaying his fangs in his eagerness. “You _definitely_ should come!”

The half-elven warlock pinched the bridge of his own nose. “Astarion…”

Benny walked over to Elganon and patted him on the head. “Y’know she’ll tail us if we try to go without ‘er now. No worries—I’ll keep an eye on ‘er.”

Elganon seemed surprised. “You’re coming with? But this is _our_ problem. You don’t even have a mind flayer tadpole in your head like we do.”

Benny chuckled, wondering what that had to do with anything. “So? _You_ and Kahi do, an’ you two are me best mates. _That’s_ why I’m goin’.”

Astarion poked his bottom lip out in a pout. “What about _me_?” he asked.

The half-orc’s gaze shifted to the vampire spawn. “What _about_ you?”

Elganon sighed heavily. “Guys…”

So, it was settled, then. They were going to investigate this abandoned facility, after all.

“There’s one more thing,” Gale mentioned, holding up a single digit. “The main chamber where they kept most of their data is at the heart of the facility, which splits off into two wings. To get to the main chamber, it'll have to be unlocked from both wings at the same time. Meaning, we'll have to split the party until we meet back up again at the center. We can decide who will go with what group when we get there and assess the situation. Any questions before we depart?”

Elganon sheepishly lifted a hand. “Would…anyone be mad if I transferred leadership to someone else? I think I would be better off in perhaps more of a…support role, in which I do all of my work from a very remote distance. What do you all think?”

Astarion laughed. “I think it’s a bit _late_ for that, darling. Honestly, I wouldn’t follow anyone else at this rate. It would be a dealbreaker for me, to be quite frank.”

“Yeh,” Wyll chimed in, grinning wide. “Besides, you’re kind of like our mascot now, mate—the teary-eyed face of our group. If we changed things up now, people might not recognize who the rest of you are supposed to be,” he teased, implying that he was their only member with a renowned reputation, which was probably fair to say.

_Damn._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You lying so low in the weeds. I bet you gonna ambush me. You'd have me down, down, down, down on my knees."
> 
> Recommended Listening: Barracuda by Heart


	17. All Dolled Up and Ready to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astarion and Elganon go out to purchase some supplies for their upcoming journey with the rest of their party, but Astarion insists that they take a small detour first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The very sweet gharashambles on Tumblr gave me this adorable suggestion for an intermission chapter for this fanfiction! I love writing a bit of pure fluff for this sappy ship. <3 (I really ought to play the game some more now with the new patch being out, so that I can get more screenshots for my folder for these chapters.)

If there ever was a day in which it took Elganon longer to get ready in the morning than it took Astarion, it would be concerning. So, when that day finally came, Astarion had to slide back into the cramped bedroom they shared in the enchanted tower to make sure that everything was alright with his half-elven lover. Hopefully, Elganon wasn’t accidentally smothering himself to death trapped in the collar of a top he couldn’t get on, or something. That was a very real fear for the vampire, since although Elganon was a very pretty-looking young man, he lacked the usual grace of his elven heritage.

Astarion was relieved to see that Elganon was just digging around in the ornate chest of adventuring gear he inherited from his deceased father.

“Damn, it’s all gone…” The half-elven warlock sighed, closing the lid in defeat, and sat down on the wooden floorboards of his bedroom where a pile of books and scrolls were scattered about him. He glanced up at Astarion when the elf stood over him to try and get an idea of what he was up to.

“What’s all gone, darling?” The vampire took a seat beside him, snaking an arm around his slender waist to pull them closer together, and planted a gentle kiss on his head.

“It’s silly. You’ll laugh,” Elganon mumbled, turning his head the other way as he picked at the bent corner of a loose Protection from Good and Evil scroll.

“No promises there, dear, but I doubt I would,” Astarion contested with a slight smile, grabbing the wrist of that idle hand to pull it into his lap.

Elganon leaned his head against the taller man’s chest, sulking. It was only then that Astarion noticed his partner wasn’t wearing his usual eye makeup; it was odd to see him without those familiar black streaks that ran down his cheeks when they appeared at least a few hours after dawn when, by then, Elganon would have gotten teary-eyed at least once over something or another.

“The batch of eye makeup my father kept in his chest of personal belongings,” he explained. “You know I’m very skeptical about putting on or using anything in there, but that was the exception. I got curious about it when I first found the chest, and I tried it on myself. I felt very pretty when I saw myself in the mirror for the first time, and I’ve been wearing it every day ever since. I’m surprised the supply lasted for over a decade, but you really didn’t need to put on much at all.”

Astarion curled a finger under Elganon’s chin, tilting his head up to get a better look at those gem-like green eyes of his. “You _are_ very beautiful indeed, my dear,” he purred, circling his lover’s warm lips with his thumb. 

He let out a ghost of a laugh when, unconsciously, Elganon’s parted lips closed around the tip of his thumb needily. It made him almost wish that the half-elf was a vampire himself, so that he could sustain his beloved in the same way Elganon permitted Astarion to feed from him. Astarion wasn’t sure about the specifics of how that would work out, since most vampires that could give the gift of vampirism were reluctant to allow a mortal or vampire spawn to feed from themselves even once to become a true vampire, so he especially hadn’t heard of a case of a vampire giving another vampire their own essence more than a single time. He had no idea what the benefit would be, if there were any to be had, but if _he_ were Elganon’s sire, he would give gladly.

Astarion was snapped from his thoughts when the warmth of Elganon’s lips left his thumb when the warlock embraced him suddenly, cuddling against his cold body lovingly. Astarion was so happy to have his lover back. He hadn’t gone anywhere physically, but emotionally their relationship had become quite strained for a while over the return of Elganon’s childhood crush. Now it felt like everything had gone back to normal, aside from a faint lingering tension that still remained on occasion.

“I just hope I haven’t been unwittingly possessed by my evil dead father over wearing some old makeup,” Elganon commented with an anxious forced laugh. “I don’t think I have, but that would be about my luck. Still not going to chance it by putting on his gear as well, as regal as it may be.”

“Why not sell it all, then?” Astarion asked, cradling his lover in his arms. “You’d probably get a good bit of coin for the lot.”

“I fear that’d be an even larger risk,” Elganon answered, frowning. “Since he intended to _become_ me, wearing his adventuring attire might be exactly what he wanted. But if I sold it… Well, I imagine if his spirit’s lingering around somewhere in this realm or another, it’d be very, very angry if I got rid of his prized belongings. Being haunted is about as bad as being possessed.”

“True.” Honestly, if Astarion’s frame was as diminutive as his partner’s, he would have worn it all himself, if Elganon would let him. He didn’t have anything to fear from the infamous elven sorcerer, and the outfit was obviously magically enchanted, therefore potentially incredibly powerful. Astarion liked power, and he needed every advantage he could get if he was to ever overcome his terrible vampire sire: Cazador Szarr.

Elganon peeked inside the lid of the chest again, as if doing so would make another batch of pitch-colored eye makeup appear by magic (it did belong to a sorcerer once, so that wasn’t too reasonable to hope for), but was only made doubly disappointed and had to shut it again when there was no discernable change in its contents. 

“Ah, well. It’s just makeup—nothing of import. I can live without it,” he said, although Astarion could tell that he was very saddened by this. Elganon’s makeup might have always wound up a watery mess, but it really did boost what little self-confidence he had in himself. Who didn’t want to feel at least a tiny bit pretty? “At any rate, I’ve got some supplies I made gathered together in a bag downstairs behind the counter, but I think we could use a few other things that we don’t sell in the apothecary. I know it’s not your idea shopping trip and I hate to ask this, but would you terribly mind if we pooled the allowance Orebos gave us for our work in the shop so that we can make sure we’re fully prepared for our expedition?”

The half-elf’s mournful eyes added: _Because I don’t want to die in a spike trap or something like Uncle Thomas did. I like existing in the same way you prefer your wine: Full-bodied._

Astarion was reluctant to part with what little money he had (little was more awful to him than the realization that technically speaking, he now shared his lover’s impoverishment since Cazador had seized all his remaining assets when Astarion became his spawn), but he could not deny the fact that he’d also like to avoid the fate of becoming a dusty old talking skull on an end table. “I don’t see why _we_ should be so generous when the rest of our group probably wouldn’t do the same—”

“Wyll would, but he lost his gold in a game of cards at the brothel, remember?” Elganon reminded him helpfully. “…And Gale might have as well, but he had to buy that trinket at the market to stave off that magic timebomb in his chest…”

“What about Benny?” asked Astarion. He couldn’t think of anyone else on their team with a generosity streak they could take advantage of.

Elganon sighed. “Benny just got out of prison, Astarion. I doubt he has any coin at all.”

“Right, of course.” The vampire mirrored his exasperation. “Well, they’ll all owe us, then! Darling, put on that gold-and-cream-colored suit I bought you. I’m taking us to the Upper City where their trap disarming kits don’t bust on the first use.”

“Are you sure we can afford that?” Elganon replied skeptically, though he did get up to go to his wardrobe and fetch the outfit and start changing in front of his partner.

Astarion grinned mischievously. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that, dear. Let the man of means in your life take care of you.”

Elganon rolled his eyes before his head and torso disappeared into a cream-colored silken blouse. He knew that Astarion barely had enough money to even buy him lunch, meaning that the vampire had something puckish in mind.

* * *

Dressed up in their best suits (Astarion was wearing the extravagantly-lacy crimson one he had commissioned on Orebos’ borrowed coin, which he thankfully no longer owed—not that the duergar remembered his repayment in full, since he never stopped ranting about the utter waste of money), the pair went down the spiral stairs hand-in-hand like a pair of princes in a fairytale. Even Benny the half-orc mercenary, who had little appreciation for artistic beauty, took notice of their elegance, as his bulging eyes widened further at the sight of them arriving at the bottom floor where the apothecary was located.

“Well, don’t you two look pretty?” Benny said with a grin, dismissing the other two tower guards, Rook and Vaylen, to send them back on their patrol. (Astarion and Elganon learned recently that the elf Vaylen was a mute, which was why she never spoke a word, but the tiefling Rook’s only excuse was that he rarely had anything meaningful to say. Still, they could have at least waved hello on occasion, or come to dinner in the afternoons.)

Benny shifted in his wooden chair that was positioned in a way that allowed him to keep watch on the front door, the door to the basement, the corridor to the kitchen and dining area, and the staircase. He didn’t get up from it to greet them, instead he placed his palms on his crooked legs and rubbed them with a pained grimace.

Elganon smiled at his childhood friend and said, “Thank you! I ran out of eye makeup, but I hope the suit distracts from that. We’re going to the Upper City to do a bit of supply shopping before we all leave to check out that abandoned research facility. Would you like to come with us? You don’t have to get all dressed up for it like we have—we just prefer to, is all.”

“Can’t,” replied the half-orc while he continued to massage the muscles in his legs. “But thanks. Legs are burnin’ like mad today. Need to give ‘em a rest.”

The half-elf frowned and let go of Astarion’s hand to grab a small jar from the shelves that was nestled between a variety of other containers that came in all sorts of odd sizes and shapes. He handed it to Benny and said, “This should help dull the pain. It’s only temporary and numbs rather than heals, but at least you won’t have to spend the rest of the afternoon suffering. Don’t worry about pay—I won’t tell Orebos that I gave you a jar. I can replace the ingredients myself the next time I’m sent out to scavenge for reagents.”

Elganon smiled at Benny, who smiled back at him appreciatively as he accepted the offering and turned the jar that was almost tiny in his massive hand. Its contents should last for one or two uses, maybe three if he was lucky. As long as it got him through the rest of this afternoon, that was all that mattered, really. “Thanks, mate.”

Astarion wasn’t too thrilled to see his lover doting on someone other than himself, but he did his best to tamp his jealous feelings down to the bottom of his twisting gut. On the plus side, seeing Benny as worn down as he was reminded Astarion that he was only mortal, and to him that was a good thing. After the encounter with Benny in the alleyway, he truly feared what the half-orc could be capable of if he were a monster hunter like their companion Wyll. Knowing that Benny and Wyll sometimes spent time together since the mercenary’s arrival (they often played dice and drank together), Astarion hoped that Wyll wasn’t influencing his career decisions in any way.

“We should get going, darling, before the shopping district gets too busy. As much as I could go for a cheeky little snack on a passerby in the crowd, I don’t want to risk it in broad daylight,” Astarion said, reaching for any excuse that might part Elganon’s attention from Benny.

It made Astarion happy when his lover skipped back to him obediently and took his hand again before they left the tower. He knew it wasn’t necessarily a good thing to be so possessive of Elganon, but it was difficult now not to rely on him for emotional comfort and it made the elf a nervous wreck when anything got in between them even for a second. He wasn’t being too clingy, was he? Nonsense, he was only deeply in love, and where was the harm in that?

* * *

Astarion’s pride swelled at the amount of people who would turn their heads curiously and gawk in awe at the two doll-like men as they passed through the city. This was certainly preferable to the befuddled and sometimes disgusted (depending on what part of the city they were in) stares they would get when Elganon didn’t have anything presentable to wear to match the high fashion sense of his beloved. Now they were the envy of Baldur’s Gate, or so the vain vampire loved to believe.

Speaking of dolls…

“How is your master? The demon,” asked Astarion in a quiet rumble as they passed through the gates leading to the Upper City. “You haven’t spoken much of him in a while.”

Elganon frowned with his eyes. “I don’t know what it is I’ve done, but I think he’s cross with me for some reason. It seems like ever since you found Charming…wherever you found him, Murmyr’s been very bitter towards me about you. He keeps saying bad things about you and the snake, but don’t worry, I haven’t been listening.”

Truly? Elganon was never known to discredit a word that his patron said, and the fact that he stood with Astarion over the demon surprised the elf, especially after Astarion’s character had been called to question a lot recently.

“I think he’s just jealous,” Elganon explained further, shaking his head. “But he’s always been that way. He’ll get over it, I’m sure. It can take him a while to calm down when he’s been made upset.”

“But _you_ won’t be punished for his ire, will you?” Astarion, for good reason, worried about that possibility. And if he knew that something bad happened to Elganon because of the meddling he did behind his lover’s back…well, he wouldn’t forgive himself.

“How is Charming, anyway?” asked Elganon, peeling his eyes away from the High House of Wonders off in the distance. He was always fascinated by that temple whenever they passed near it, but they’d yet to stop and pay it a visit. Astarion just didn’t understand the man’s fascination with religion, especially since Elganon didn’t belong to any specific one despite his…dabbling in the teachings of Loviatar in recent times.

Astarion smirked humorously. “He’s not my patron or anything, you know. He doesn’t command me.”

Elganon smiled back. “No, but you two seem to be good friends by now. I’m asking how he’s doing as your friend.”

“…He said I was smarter than he initially gave me credit for,” the vampire admitted proudly. “Of course, I already knew that, but I was glad to hear it roll off that forked tongue of his.”

“Good. I’m happy for you.” Astarion couldn’t discern the conflicted expression that flitted across the warlock’s features. The way in which Elganon tilted his head towards his made him think he was coming in for a kiss, which he would have been happy to oblige. But then, Elganon said something else, “…Are _you_ happy, Astarion?” Worried green eyes focused on the elf.

“Of course I am, as long as we’re together,” Astarion said right away, clutching his lover’s hand tighter as they passed through the shopping district, avoiding the barks of merchants peddling wares they had no interest in.

“I’m really sorry if I’ve made you feel unloved lately,” Elganon apologized, resting his head against his partner’s arm as they walked side-by-side, as if they were attached at the hip. “I was being stupid and selfish.”

“I wasn’t behaving much better, dear,” Astarion replied with a sigh, pressing a kiss to Elganon’s head. He really enjoyed the flowery smell of the younger man’s hair, ever since the elf recommended a mixture that he felt suited his gloomy personality; his hair smelled of orchids and lilies. Some might think it strange to present a lover with mourning flowers, but Elganon loved them the most and began putting them to good use in perfumes when they started to rot.

Their minds must have been on the same page, because both of men glanced over at the cosmetics shop as soon as the shopkeeper flipped the sign over to indicate that it was open for the day and permitted the few waiting customers at the door to file in. Neither Astarion nor Elganon _needed_ such wares, but Astarion, at least, was very tempted to browse. After all, there was plenty of time in the day, wasn’t there? They’d only drop in for a moment; Astarion believed this shop was new, and he was curious to see what they had.

“Astarion, where are we going?” Elganon mumbled fussily as he was dragged by the hand in the direction of the shop. He, too, wished to go inside, but was more sensible (at least in some regards) than his partner was and knew that it was a waste of time. However, Elganon hadn’t ever gotten the chance to visit much of the Upper City prior to meeting Astarion. Before, when he’d come here, he’d be shooed away by those who suspected he was a vagrant or a troublemaker for his manner of dress and stringy hair with no apparent master to indicate that he was a servant of any kind. Now, with a nobleman at his side and proper attire, he could travel this part of the city freely without being hounded and chased off.

“I just want to _look_ ,” said Astarion, pulling the smaller man along and keeping the door open for him as they went inside.

The place wasn’t much to Astarion, who had high standards and even higher expectations, but to Elganon, the place was gorgeous. It was nothing like the dreary and damp apothecary he worked out of in the Lower City; this place was vibrant, warmly lit, and inviting. Not to mention that it actually had a pleasant aroma wafting in the air. The apothecary in the tower smelled more like a funeral home with its acrid vapors. 

As they went around the various displays and shelves, Elganon was very careful not to bump into anything, instead clinging tightly to Astarion to make sure his own clumsiness wouldn’t get the better of him. Everything in here looked so expensive, and the thought of knocking over anything filled him with dread.

Elganon pitied the fact that he had the opportunity of experiencing wonderment at all the sights, imagining himself to be in some kind of fairy’s home, while Astarion didn’t seem fazed at all, having been so used to opulence to the point that it became dull and boring to him.

“Eugh, would you just look at this wig, darling.” Astarion released his partner’s hand to lift up the mannequin head resting on one of the shelves. 

Elganon didn’t see what the big deal was; it was a decent enough wig, in his opinion. Granted, he had only ever seen a few in his lifetime. The handful of people who invested in such luxuries in the Lower City were usually either prostitutes at Madam Mum’s brothel or people with conditions whose hair loss made them stand out as someone with a terrible condition, be it syphilis, leprosy, or something else. Or, in the rare cases that a play was put on, wigs were worn by actors and actresses, if such things were in the production budget, which they often were not. In the Lower City, a wig was worn to become someone else, not so much as a fashion statement.

“What’s wrong with it?” Elganon asked, afraid to even put his eyes too close to it, let alone touch it for fear of damaging the merchandise; he wasn’t as bold as Astarion was in that regard. “Seems fine to me.” It was actually less matted and worn than most wigs he’d seen.

His lover’s lack of taste baffled Astarion, though he probably shouldn’t have been surprised by now; he’d grown to know him well enough. “I mean, it doesn’t even look like humanoid hair! I would think whoever crafted it must have shaven it off a bear’s arse!” He took the wig off the mannequin and wiggled it in Elganon’s face until the warlock giggled, then placed it back where it belonged.

“How do you know so much about wigs, Astarion? Did _you_ use to wear one?” Elganon wondered aloud.

Astarion blushed, avoiding eye-contact and placing his hands on his hips. “Well, when you’re a magistrate, ironically they sometimes make you commit a variety of indecent crimes against fashion. For the most part, as taboo as it was, I was permitted to wear just my natural hair once I dyed it a lighter shade…”

“What color was it before?” Elganon reached for his beloved’s curly locks, only for the vampire to take a step away before the curious fingers could comb through his hair.

“That’s hardly important, dear,” Astarion replied, skirting around the question.

“Was it always that short? Most elves I’ve met let their hair grow longer.” The half-elf was rather persistent about asking inane questions, but Astarion could understand why. He got the impression that Elganon very much desired to connect more with the elven side of his heritage that he barely understood, having been raised primarily around humans, so it seemed.

“It was tiny bit longer in the past.” Astarion held a hand up to his shoulders, where Elganon’s hair ended. “About like yours, though I kept mine tied back in a little ponytail with a bow.”

The answer brought an enchanted smile to Elganon’s lugubrious face—he was clearly picturing the description in his head. “I-I like it the way that it is now, but I very much would have liked to see it back then,” he confessed bashfully with his heart all aflutter. He fanned at his own face with a hand.

With a small chuckle, Astarion draped his arm around the warlock’s lithe shoulders and guided him down the next isle, where they kept the eye makeup. Now Elganon realized the purpose of their detour.

“Astarion, I already told you that I can live without my eye makeup—it’s nothing important,” the half-elf insisted, making a half-hearted effort to break away from his lover’s grasp.

“And I already told _you_ , darling, we’re just _looking_!” the elf reminded him as they paused at a rack filled with eyeliners and mascaras in all sorts of colors and types.

While admiring it all, Elganon couldn’t help but be wistful. “You know, I once suggested to Orebos that I would like to try my hand at starting my own line of cosmetics. I thought it might bring more customers to the shop if we had more variety in our wears and a few things that were less…” He paused, searching for the right words as he plucked a precious little container off the display. “Scary and off-putting. Like this. Look at how adorable this is! And it’s just to hold eyeliner!”

Sighing, he placed it back on the rack, forlorn that the shelves at the apothecary weren’t as beautiful. Where would he have even put pleasant things like this that would appeal to customers, anyway? Between the jars full of eyeballs and fermented herbs? “But Orebos forbid it—said he wasn’t going to change his business to some dainty little shop for the “women folk”. I pointed out to him that most of our customers are women shopping for their spouses, anyway, but you know how stubborn and set in his backwards ways he is…” He spread his arms out in front of the wares. “I would _love_ to learn how to make things like this! I’m so _tired_ of making anti-fungal creams and lotions for calloused feet. And if I have to remove another benign tumor or hairy wart in the backroom, I’m going to scream.”

Astarion cringed as he listened to the awful details of Elganon’s work. The vampire was fortunate enough to only be stuck with managing customers on occasion and making sales when Elganon’s duergar father demanded that he do a bit of real work (Astarion’s least favorite thing) since he played stupid whenever Orebos attempted to show him how to prepare cures. Astarion was a decent enough salesman, but Elganon was stuck doing the more disgusting parts of running the apothecary. He simply assumed that Elganon must have liked doing that type of work, and he never imagined that he might resent it at least a little and wished to do something else with his life.

The elf sought something to steer the conversation away from Elganon’s frustrations so that his lover wouldn’t dwell on his woes to the point of bursting into tears, and found it in the shape of another container of eyeliner that might have served for a better replacement for what Elganon typically wore. “Ooh, they have one that’s waterproof,” he commented, showing it to his partner.

Elganon took it and turned it around in his hand thoughtfully, then said, “Waterproof? That doesn’t sound healthy, and I’d _never_ be able to get it off.” He placed it back where the vampire found it.

Astarion didn’t want to bring it to Elganon’s attention that he was never good at removing his old makeup in the first place; it didn’t even come all the way off when he’d had a day full of crying spells, and taking a rag to it only left faint gray smudges. Come to think of it, would Elganon even look the same if his eye makeup was proper and perfect? Seeing him now without his usual style coating and running down his eyes was very surreal and off; he was hardly himself like that.

Deciding after all that he didn’t want his beloved to change, liking him just the way that he was, Astarion searched for a set of fairly standard black eyeliner and mascara, handing it over to the warlock with a soft smile. “We should get these, then.”

“Astarion, we don’t have the money,” Elganon argued, fumbling with the containers in his hands as if he didn’t deserve to even touch them let alone own them. “We came out to the Upper City to get important _supplies_ , not cosmetics. You said we were only browsing.”

“This _is_ important, my dear!” said Astarion, patting him on the shoulders. “If you’re so convinced that we’re going to die where we’re going, then you may as well look your best for when your corpse is found by a bard, or some such. You don’t want to be remembered in tale as a drab peasant, do you?”

Elganon frowned at his mate’s morbid sense of humor, but his eyes wandered down to the makeup containers held in his hands. He _did_ want these items very badly, truth be told… “We can’t afford it, though…”

“Not true,” retorted the elf, grinning from ear to ear. “We can spare enough coin for at least one of them, and…” He deftly swiped one of the containers from Elganon’s palms and slipped it away into his coat pocket. “Draws less attention if you pay for _something_ when you’re shoplifting. The shopkeeper won’t watch you as suspiciously when you walk out the door.”

“Astarion!” Elganon gasped. “You could get us into a _lot_ of trouble doing that. It’s not worth it just to make _me_ feel pretty…”

Leaning over the warlock’s shoulder, Astarion nuzzled into Elganon’s cheek pleadingly. “Would it be worth it to make _me_ feel pretty, then? I was thinking of “picking up” a few things for myself, if you don’t mind…”

“Astarion…”

“You know, I notice that you never call me by any sort of pet names like I do with you,” the vampire mused playfully. “It’s always: “ _Astarion_!”” He put on a mocking mimicry of Elganon’s fussiest voice as he spoke his own name.

“I don’t say it like that!”

“Yes, you do!” Astarion used the same voice again, but he made it even more exaggerated this time. “ _Astarion, stop it_!”

“Astarion!”

“ _Astaaaaaaaaarion_ ~!”

Elganon grabbed the elf by his frilly collar and held their faces close, touching their foreheads together as he pouted. “Astarion, stop it.” He didn’t realize how close he sounded to Astarion’s imitation of it. “And anyway, I don’t call you by pet names because…because, well, it sounds _silly_ when it’s coming from me. You do it better…”

“Oh, darling…” The vampire’s cold hands sought out the warmth of his partner’s face, and he laughed when the half-elf made an irritable little grunt in response to the affectionate touching. He loved to make the little man fuss so adorably.

“I’ll let you steal, but only this once. Next time, if you’re going to steal, I’ll only allow it if it’s something of practical value,” Elganon relented, letting go of the lace collar.

“Wait, so you don’t mind me stealing?” Astarion recalled the time when Elganon himself took from a cache of gold that was hidden by the tieflings at the druid grove, but he still wasn’t sure exactly where the man stood on such a thing; he assumed that it was a one-time thing since they were desperate for money at the time.

“Astarion, I grew up with _graverobbers_. _Of course,_ I don’t mind stealing if it’s for the right reasons. Sometimes you just…need certain things that you can’t always afford,” the warlock explained sheepishly. “You have to do what you must to get by, otherwise you die. That’s the way that life is, unfortunately.”

This was a major reason why Astarion had grown so fond of the half-elf in the first place: Although he was very, very strange and often embarrassing to be around, and though they had very different reasons for their actions, they tended to see eye-to-eye when it came to making sacrifices in morality for the sake of one’s own survival. Pitying the less fortunate was noble and all, but who did that help if it got you killed?

Elganon might have been cowardly, pitiful, and naïve, but at least he knew how to survive. Astarion wasn’t sure _how_ someone like him had such a knack for survival—maybe it was pure luck or the boon of his demonic patron (he was also told that Elganon’s father was unnaturally lucky until his luck finally ran out)—but sticking together seemed to greatly increase Astarion’s own odds of making it day-by-day.

To Astarion’s surprise, once he found a few cosmetics of interest for himself, Elganon aided him in smuggling them out the door under his clothes after they paid for the single tube of mascara. They got away with their crime, and even Elganon seemed giddy about their impish misdeeds when they went about their way to repeat the process at a couple more shops that actually sold wares related to their upcoming expedition. Truly, they were the perfect pair for one another.

* * *

* * *

Elganon nodded with satisfaction at himself in the mirror once his new makeup was applied. He even smudged it with his fingers to make the usual lines that would appear after he would cry to get an idea of how it would look on a typical day. 

Astarion couldn’t see himself in the mirror as he sat on the bed and applied his own makeup, but he hoped it was turning out alright. Unlike Elganon, he wasn’t satisfied with a little something to bring out his eyes—he went for a little bit of everything: foundation, eyeliner, mascara, eyeshadow, blush… All of it was to cover up his imperfections, everything from the signs of old age to his natural blemishes he’d had since his youth to the markings of his vampirism—even the bite scars on his neck. At this rate, his face was like chiseled marble, pale and perfect. Too perfect for Elganon’s taste.

“You really caked it on, I see,” Elganon murmured with a light chuckle as he sat beside Astarion on the bed, taking his hands into his own and resting them on his lap.

“But it looks good, right? I can’t tell.” Astarion frowned, worrying that he must have done up his face like someone’s senile grandmother with the way that his partner was looking at him so oddly.

“It’s not _you_ , though, is it?” Elganon mirrored his expression and tipped his head inquisitively to one side, showing concern. “I can hardly see _you_ under all that. Where’s my beautiful Astarion, and what have you done with him?”

Astarion tried to suppress a laugh that came out anyway. “I suppose I’m a bit jealous of how young you are.” He rolled his eyes. “Sometimes when we’re together in public, I feel like one of those horrible old men I used to have the misery of encountering at parties among my fellow nobility. They always had some pretty young thing dangling off their arms that they had no business courting, and you could always tell they were promising these young men and women money or power. When people see us together, I don’t want them to picture our relationship like… _that_ … I myself was propositioned several times when I was your age by such _fiends_ , so I don’t want you to feel as disgusted as I was—”

Elganon quieted him when he cupped his chilly cheek in his hand, stroking along his jawline with knitted brows. “I wish you wouldn’t be so down on yourself… I don’t care about you being older than I am, or that you’re a vampire, or…or…any of these things that you worry about me being ashamed of.” After a while, Astarion came to realize that Elganon was rubbing his face to remove some of the makeup to bring out more of his natural appearance. “I love you unconditionally. You could become a skull on a table like poor Uncle Thomas, and I would _still_ love you.”

“D-Darling—”

Warm lips were pressed against Astarion’s cold ones, and after that brief entanglement of mouths, much of the colored gloss that he’d applied had faded away, revealing the true pale color the vampire’s lips had taken in undeath. The blush and foundation were smoothed away as hands caressed his face, laying bare all the freckles and the faint spidery veins beneath Astarion’s dark eyelids. By the time Elganon was done, for the most part, all the was really left was some of the eye makeup, and that was beginning to run down the vampire’s face as he felt himself start to cry.

The tips of their noses were touched together as they cupped each other’s faces and brushed their lips together lovingly. They giggled like school children as they gazed into one another’s eyes, and Astarion muttered after a faint sniffle that brought pause to his tears, “I suppose now we match…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You've got to love me for what I am, for simply being me. Don't love me for what you intend or hope that I will be."
> 
> Recommended Listening: Love Me for What I Am by The Carpenters


	18. You Must Gather Your Party Before Venturing Forth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dungeon-delving can be such a pain, especially when you hate nearly everyone in your party.

“I’m scared. I want to go home. We should never have come out this far,” said Elganon, whimpering and biting into the knuckles of one fist as he wept fearfully while his other hand gripped Benny’s tightly when they walked together.

Elganon was only a child back then. They all were, really—him, Benjamin, and Kahira. Benjamin was the oldest, while Kahira was the second oldest (yet often mistaken for being the youngest) between the three of them. Benny was the leader of their trio of Lower City brats, not just because he was the eldest but also due to the fact that other local children typically wouldn’t dare mess with him mainly because of his height (he was perceived as being considerably older than he was, especially since he started sprouting facial hair at a young age) and his half-orcish heritage. 

Of course, there were exceptions where particularly bold rude children would taunt him with the nickname “Benny the Bent”, having been born with severe bowlegs, but those children normally didn’t keep their teeth for very long afterward. Benny didn’t feel great about using violence to solve his problems, but he was always told growing up, both by his real mother and the brothel owner who’d taken him in when his biological mother died of a disease, that he shouldn’t let others bully him or the people he cared about, and that if he let people just say or do whatever they liked without consequence, he wouldn’t be the only one to suffer—there’d be other victims that proceeded him, too.

He wasn’t great at solving disputes with his words as a young lad. His cleft lip sometimes made speech frustrating and hearing his own slurred speech embarrassed him terribly, believing that others thought he sounded like an idiot. He wasn’t an idiot—he was very introspective for a boy his age. He just didn’t have the right words to explain himself with. Elganon and Kahira always understood him, though, and the former, despite his extreme shyness, was always willing to try and interpret what Benny was feeling when he needed the help. Kahira, meanwhile, was always there to diffuse his moments of embarrassment with a good sense of humor that taught him to take himself a little less seriously to keep from getting hyper fixated on his insecurities. He was very thankful for his friends, and it helped that they were social outcasts in their own ways as well.

Allegedly, it technically wasn’t just the three of them. Elganon insisted that his imaginary sheep friend named Murmyr was there with them at all times. 

“I think he’s growing up like we are,” the half-elven boy commented once. “He just keeps getting bigger and is going through a lot of changes. He’s got _three_ tails now. I wish I had three tails…” 

Elganon was the only one who believed in Murmyr. Kahira also thought it was too silly to be believed. The most likely explanation for why he suddenly had increased magical talent was because he was raised by necromancers and other spellcasters, and it was only now that the teachings were starting to sink in.

Elganon was always such a funny boy. Benny vaguely remembered a time when he didn’t get so afraid constantly like he was now. He was a lot different back then. He barely said much at all and would just stare blanky at things, occasionally smiling. Benny was pretty sure that when they’d met as very small children that the only reason Elganon waved at him was because he waved first. Elganon did everything he was asked to and mimicked most actions that others performed. At that time, he didn’t seem to know how to act on his own accord; someone would have to suggest it to him.

It was believed back then that Elganon was a simple-minded boy, but something must have cured that. Maybe his adoptive duergar father concocted some remedy at his apothecary? Benny had no clue, but he never considered to ask about that, nor did it even occur to him to inquire about the possibility of having his own conditions treated. (That was probably for the better, since Orebos, the duergar, wasn’t a highly skilled surgeon. Not everyone left his backroom operating table in a better condition than they’d entered, but for some folk it was a better alternative to doing nothing at all about their problems.) Regardless, he liked this much more expressive and livelier version of his friend, lugubriousness and all.

“Please take me home, Benny,” Elganon pleaded again, tugging on the half-orc boy’s arm, but to no use; he was so frail in comparison to Benny.

“I will,” promised the other boy. “Later. C’mon, Elg, we’re almost there. No sense in chickenin’ out now…” He urged the smaller boy to come along with him, trying to reassure him that their little adventure wasn’t all that scary or bad—they were having fun! Benny and Kahira were, at any rate. They just needed to get Elganon on board, too, somehow.

What were they even doing sneaking around in the Temple of the Bitch Queen Umberlee? Were they really about to steal a magical artefact out from underneath the priestess’ noses simply to brag that they could? They weren’t going to do anything untoward with it once they had it in their possession. They only wanted to see what it did, and then put it right back where they found it before anyone noticed it was missing, that’s all. 

When they finally were standing in front of it, it just looked like a normal old bowl to them. What was so special about it?

“Somebody touch it,” Kahira insisted, eager to see its magical properties in action, yet the deep gnome was not so eager that she’d be the first to try it herself if she could help it.

“ _I’m_ not touching it,” Elganon said, sniffling and letting go of Benny’s hand to rub both of his own together timidly.

Benny scratched his head as he thoughtfully eyed the bowl full of what appeared to be mundane water. “I don’t know nothin’ about magic like you two do. I doubt I could get it to work, or else I would.”

That made the decision clear for Kahira, in that case. “Elg, you touch it.”

“No!” the boy shouted, so loudly that he covered his mouth a little too late. Somebody had heard them and was coming their way. Bare footsteps slapped against the damp tile flooring of the temple as their pursuer drew nearer.

“Who goes there?” called out an older woman’s voice, sounding impatient and furious.

The water inside of the bowl began to tremor and came to a spontaneous boil, foam spilling out onto the floor until it took on the shape of a vaguely humanoid creature. It was a water elemental.

“Run!” Kahira screamed, completely blowing their cover if it wasn’t already. One might expect that they would have scattered like roaches in opposite directions to increase the odds of at least one of them escaping safely, but instead they dashed for the back entrance from whence they came as one, remaining together even when a swarm of furious priestesses chased them into the streets they were growing up on.

Anyone with any sense knew that you never split the party.

* * *

* * *

_Of course_ , Astarion would get stuck in the half of the party that had both Benny and Kahira in it. _Of course_.

On the other hand, he couldn’t think of any other party composition that wouldn’t have consisted of people he struggled to get along with. Not one that would result in their survival, anyway. As much as he liked his private outings with Elganon, he sincerely doubted they could have traversed these confusing and winding hallways by themselves and succeeded. Many of the puzzles they encountered thus far required at least four people.

In his mind, he expected the pathway to be a lot more linear. You know, just a hallway—straightforward and simple. A few locks here and there that he could easily pick with one of the kits he and Elganon pocketed when they went shopping. (Shoplifting was probably the more accurate term; they hardly paid for anything when they went to the Upper City marketplace.)

But, no, of course this research facility had to be a nightmare dungeon of traps and cantrips and all other manner of convoluted security measures. _Of course._

Astarion was suddenly very glad that his newfound serpent familiar, Charming, was teaching him in the ways of the Arcane Trickster. And to his surprise, apparently Kahira was one as well. Here he thought she was just a goblinoid (supposedly) deep gnome with a crude shiv and a death wish. Where _she_ learned the craft, he had no clue. He suspected that she didn’t know, either.

“Stop.”

Astarion, Elganon, Benny, and Kahira collectively came to an immediate halt at the command of Thomas, the animate skull of a Thayan red wizard and apparent companion of Elganon’s “uncle” Tabalecus. Elganon held the skull in one hand while Thomas kept on the lookout (despite having no physical eyes with which to see anymore) for traps and puzzles and the like. Back in his adventuring heydays, Thomas was a skilled riddle-solver, which didn’t seem like a particularly impressive boon, until one realized just how often a party came across such things in their travels. 

With Gale leading the other half of their group all the way on the opposite side of the facility to handle all of that, they needed somebody of their own who could fill the same role, so for the sake of being safe, Elganon insisted that they drop by Tabalecus’ home in the Outer City of Baldur’s Gate and take Thomas along for the journey. The poor skull was starting to get stir crazy being stuck at home all the time, anyway.

“Not another step further. There are pressure plates up ahead,” Thomas said, trying to concentrate on what needed to be done next before they proceeded. “Poison dart trap, I think.” He thought on it further. “No, I see the runes now. It’s fire. Definitely a fire trap. Just a moment, let me try and remember how these things usually go again…” The skull clenched his jaw ponderously.

Elganon neglected to mention that Thomas had been so out of practice with this line of work that he’d gotten somewhat rusty at the job. At least they hadn’t died _yet_.

“Ah, I see now. Some of these plates are “safe zones” that we—or rather, those of you who are lucky enough to have feet—will have to navigate carefully to progress to the next area,” Thomas explained.

“Which ones are the safe ones?” Astarion groaned, growing tired of all these tedious puzzles. He wished he could switch places with the snake curled around his shoulders. Charming was such a lazy little bastard, as it turned out.

“Uhm…” That was the last thing anyone wanted to hear come from the skull’s teeth. “The blue ones—no, no… It’s the…ah… One moment…”

Astarion _knew_ he should’ve insisted on going with Gale’s team. They were probably already at the end of their gauntlet, safe as can be.

“Try the green ones,” Thomas suggested.

Benny took a hesitant step on a green plate and shifted his upper body out of the way just in time as a dart that was shot from a hole in the wall whirled past his torso. He gave the skull a mildly perturbed look out of the corner of his eye.

“I _knew_ it was poison darts,” the deceased Thayan wizard grumbled. “Alright, fine, try the red ones.”

Kahira leaped off Benny’s back, which she’d been riding upon throughout much of the journey and tossed a rock from her stuffed potato sack onto a red plate. Fire jets erupted around it.

Thomas’ eye sockets seemed larger somehow. “Ooooh, so it’s _both_! They really went all out here!”

“ _Elganon, give the skull to me—I’m going to throw him into one of the yellow pressure plates and hopefully give him his final death_ ,” Astarion hissed between clenched fangs.

“Astarion, no! Thomas is trying his best to help us!” Elganon said, holding the skull away as Astarion approached. With Astarion being significantly taller, it did little to deter the elf, and the skull was quickly wrestled from his hands. “Give him _back_! Don’t!”

But it was too late; Thomas let out a horrified shriek as he went sailing and landed on a yellow pressure plate. His teeth chattered fearfully, expecting the worst, but nothing happened. They discovered the safe color to tread upon, entirely accidentally. Astarion let out a disappointed sigh. The _one_ time he had to be lucky…

“Astarion, that wasn’t necessary,” Benny mumbled. He might have gotten more passionate about his frustration with the elf, had he not been so weary from the journey thus far.

While the party slowly caught up with Thomas, taking care not to step on any other color but yellow (it was especially hard for Benny, whose legs wobbled sometimes, but Kahira walked behind him and helped the half-orc keep his balance), Elganon swatted at Astarion feebly before scooping the skull back up into his arms.

“I’m sorry!” Astarion said irritably, waving the half-elf’s thin arms away.

“Stop trying to kill the people that I actually like!” Elganon replied, puffing up his cheeks in a pout as he dusted off the human skull. “There aren’t many of them, for Gods’ sake!”

“He’s already dead, anyway!” the elf retorted.

Thomas hacked up a cloud of dust and attempted to make it apparent that he was glaring at the vampire. “So are _you_ , but you don’t see me trying to kill you.”

Astarion signaled back to the pressure plate trap they just passed through. “What was all of _that_ then!?”

“I said _try_! I wasn’t _trying_ to kill you!” Thomas grinded his teeth out of embarrassment.

“Now I see why you’re just a skull!” Astarion snapped.

“Hey, that wasn’t _my_ fault!” the skull retorted. “Blame Elganon’s father! He was the one who killed me. Pushed me right into that spike trap, he did… Made me look like an imbecile. That was even worse than the murder part…”

Astarion was unexpectedly a little more sympathetic after that revelation. That explained why the skull wasn’t too keen on elves—Elganon’s father was a high elf like himself, wasn’t he? It reminded Astarion of his own reservations about the Gur people after they’d essentially killed him, prior to this whole vampire thing. Both of their hatreds might’ve been irrational and unfair, but it gave Astarion something to think about.

“I-I suppose Elganon is right—you were only trying to help,” the elf admitted reluctantly, scratching the back of his head, and averting his gaze shamefully. He wasn’t good at apologizing—not sincerely, anyway. “No hard feelings, yes?”

Thomas huffed, but after mulling it over for a while, he finally said, “No hard feelings… Attempted-murderer.”

_Well, you can’t win them all_ , Astarion thought defeatedly. At least he made an effort to do the right thing, even if it was after doing a very wrong thing. It was an improvement over his usual behavior.

He expected Elganon to be scowling at him still, but when their eyes met, he saw that his lover was smiling and patting him on the arm appreciatively while holding Thomas’ skull with the other. Yes, he _was_ doing better, wasn’t he? It made him quite happy to know that at least Elganon forgave him. That was _some_ consolation.

Charming peeled back his pale eyelids, exposing his bright red eyes to the world again. “Are we at the end yet?” he asked sleepily.

“Nope,” said Kahira as the group trudged on ahead with Benny at the lead.

“Wake me up when we get there,” muttered the snake, shutting his eyes. The next time they were stuck at a trap, Astarion decided that he would throw _Charming_ into it. Without waking him first.

Another long stretch of empty hallway was ahead of them, and unfortunately, that usually meant Kahira was about to start chattering at Astarion again. And she did, right on cue.

“Hey, Frilly?” she said, grinning mischievously. Astarion wanted to cut her already. “When you were a magistrate, did you have a gavel and everything? Y’know, for when you declared people guilty.” In her mind, she couldn’t imagine he ever handed out a not guilty verdict in his entire career.

“ _I wish I had one now, so that I could use it to bash your brains in_ , _assuming you have any_ ,” Astarion muttered quietly enough that only she could hear him, since they were lagging behind Benny and Elganon.

She ignored his attempt to provoke her and went on to her next question designed entirely to ruffle his feathers, metaphorically speaking. “Is your hair white because you don’t feel like wearing a powdered wig, or…?”

“ _It’s not white, it’s more of a…platinum blonde color_.”

“Doesn’t look blonde to me. It’s gray, at best,” she argued, scrutinizing his hair through narrowed eyelids.

Astarion’s temper was rising as his patience declined. “There’s definitely a very, very light gold-ish hue to it…in the right lighting! Maybe your species, whatever it may be, simply can’t perceive its true color!”

Kahira giggled. “Why are you getting’ so defensive about it? I’m just askin’ a question.” She grinned. “Is it ‘cause you’re old?”

Benny and Elganon stopped and turned around when Astarion shouted, “I’M NOT OLD!”

“I mean…” Benny hesitated but chose to finish his thought. “Not that it’s any of my business, but I _was_ wonderin’ what Elg was doin’ with an, ah…older gentleman.”

“You speak as if I’m some type of senior citizen!” Astarion snapped at the half-orc, who shrugged his shoulders at the elf.

“You said it, not me. You’re, what, at least a few centuries old?”

“E-Everyone, please,” Elganon spoke up. “Leave Astarion alone. He gets very sensitive about this sort of thing…”

Astarion knew his lover was trying to defend him here, but the phrasing he used really wounded his pride since, in a way, it was also a confession that they spoke the truth.

“He’s so old that he probably wears wooden vampire dentures,” Kahira prodded, getting one last joke in that she had saved.

“I’m about to show you how real these teeth _are_!” the vampire fussed, clenching his fists, and baring his fangs threateningly.

“Kahira, that’s enough,” Elganon said firmly, frowning disappointedly at her.

The deep gnome lowered her head and crawled onto Benny’s back again before they proceeded forward. She didn’t say anything else for a while, but once Astarion had caught up again with the rest of the group, she knew she had to say something.

“Sorry,” she apologized. “I only tease you ‘cause I like you, kind of.”

“Well, I don’t like _you_ ,” the elf hissed.

“Listen,” she said. “You’re gonna hafta learn how to handle bants if you’re gonna be in our gang. Everybody in our group gets teased every once in a while. It’s so nobody gets a big ego, y’know?”

The suggestion made Astarion laugh sarcastically. “Oh, so I’m joining street gangs all of a sudden now, am I?”

“Yeah,” Kahira replied eagerly. “And even though Elg says you already got a sick Infernal scar tattoo on your back, you’re gonna need a proper _gang_ tattoo.”

“And what would you suggest?” Astarion wasn’t sure why he was humoring this idea, but he was curious to know more about the silly ideas floating around in the strange gnome’s head.

“I dunno.” She scratched her jaw thoughtfully with one hand while holding onto Benny’s shoulder with the other, the potato sack she carried with her stuffed under her armpit. “I could do a poke tattoo of Charming on your arse, I guess? I don’t draw so good, but—"

“Absolutely not.”

“C’mon, snakes make for cool gang tattoos.”

“ _Why on my arse_?”

“Because it’s funny, and every time somebody would ask to see our gang tattoos, I’d make you show it to people.”

“I doubt you could make me do _anything_.”

“Not even if I said _please_ , Mr. Rumplebottom~?”

“ _Stop calling me that, or I’ll gut you_.”

She sighed dramatically. “Ugh. I thought you liked _fun_.”

The rest of the path to the end of the corridor wasn’t so bad, especially once Kahira and Astarion quit their bickering (for now), but maybe that was only because the group’s tolerance for suffering rose as they continued onward. A sentient statue had them answer three riddles that Thomas, in a stroke of good fortune, almost seemed to have memorized. (“The answers are always the same. It’s always something mundane, yet ominous, like “the wind” or “a shadow” or “the ocean”, or some such rot,” he’d said, evidently hoping for something fresh and new after all these years of being out of the riddle-solving game.) 

Then, they had to swing on a rope to cross a cavern with a spike pit at the bottom. (Elganon nearly fell, and it took the entire group to save his sorry self since lately his demon patron had apparently turned its back on him for reasons unknown.) After that, it was just a matter of spending the next hour solving a sliding puzzle, and now they were at the end, barred only by a final sealed door.

“That wasn’t so hard,” said Thomas proudly, not noticing that the rest of the team was completely exhausted by the whole ordeal. “Now let me see if I can read the runes on this door… If Gale’s estimations are correct, once we begin to activate them, similar symbols will light up on the adjacent door. Hopefully, your wizard from Waterdeep’s half of the party has already made it to the end on their side.”

“Tom,” Benny said, attempting to get the muttering skull’s attention, but to no avail. “Elg?”

“Yes, Benny?” said the half-elf, craning his neck. He nearly dropped the skull cradled in his arm when he saw what the issue was.

Astarion sighed, spinning on his heel to face the half-orc himself. “What is it _now_ —oh _fuck_.”

Apparently, at least some of the massive golems that lined the walls of this hallway weren’t just for decoration. They’d come to life as soon as Thomas had started his incantation of reading the runes upon the door.

Kahira dropped to the ground to move a little closer to the golems and clutched her potato sack close to her chest, barely able to contain her excitement. Her sharpened teeth were drawing blood from her bottom lip as she bit down into it with glee. “LOOK AT ‘EM! THEY’RE SO _AWESOME_!” Her crimson hair blew in the unnatural gust that was created when one of the golems bent down and bellowed at the collected group.

Charming’s eyes opened again, and looking from the golems to his student, he glowered at Astarion. “ _Thisss_ isss how you choossse to awaken me!?”

The first idea that entered Astarion’s mind was to hurl the serpent directly at the face of one of the golems. It wasn’t the best of his ideas, but how did one appropriately react to being surrounded by a trio of giant, pissed-off golems? Like Thomas, he was only doing his best.

The golem stood tall again and tried to grab at the terrified snake now curling and twisting around its neck and then it’s arms, but it couldn’t get ahold of the creature. Confused, it stumbled about in a full circle, bumping into its identical siblings awkwardly. That, at least, told Astarion that these creatures, though they were magical, must be dumb and unable to distinguish one perceived threat from another; to them, a moving target was a moving target. 

Astarion exchanged all this information with Elganon mentally, forgetting their agreement to leave the tadpole in their heads well enough alone. He didn’t care to share what he knew with Kahira or Benny. He didn’t like them, and what if they teased his observations, saying they were stupid?

Elganon touched his fingers to the temple of his forehead and curled his arm around Thomas’ skull tighter, wrinkling his nose at the slight headache brought on by the awakening of his mind flayer parasite, then said to Astarion, “A-Although I still have access to my powers, you ought to know that most of them really only work well on organic beings! I’m not sure if I can be of much help here!”

That was something Astarion completely forgot about. His lover mostly knew of necromancy, talking to things that should probably never speak in the first place, and stirring uncomfortable emotions within creatures that already had doubts and fears. Necromantic magic and emotion didn’t apply to _these_ golems, and they hardly appeared to want to talk.

“Then just…I don’t know! Hit them with that horrible lightning you conjure!” Astarion barked, frustrated by those limitations. He knew it wasn’t Elganon’s fault what his specialties were, but it didn’t help that Charming was equally limited to organic (preferably _living_ ) targets, hence why the snake was in such a helpless tizzy.

“I’ve got an even better idea!” said Thomas, pausing in his incantations. Some of the runes that were lit up on the door slowly faded during this time, but others were continuing to fill in with magical energy. Someone was unlocking them from the other door. “Elganon, channel your necromantic power into me! I believe that will help me finish my work here _much_ quicker! As for the rest of you, keep the golems off our backs!”

Elganon swallowed and bobbed his head, doing as he was told. He held onto either side of Thomas’ skull, transferring teal-colored magic into the undead being. Thomas’ empty eye sockets lit up with the same power, and a similar effect was clouding Elganon’s vision, too, blinding him to the mortal world.

When Astarion focused on the golems again, he saw Charming slither into a gap in the collar of the golem he’d been distracting. They had hollow cavities, indicating that some of their internal workings could be mechanical in nature. He wasn’t the only person in his party who noticed this. 

Kahira jumped back on Benny’s shoulders, and through a wordless exchange, got the half-orc to throw her as hard as he could at the head of the golem on the left, much like what Astarion did with the serpent. The deep gnome clung to the creature’s face with her heavy potato sack under one arm, enduring the vibrations of its odd resonating roar until she could safely drop down onto its shoulder.

She took the corners of her potato sack into her hands and bashed it across the face. Once, twice, and again. The sack was now bursting open, revealing mostly-smooth rocks underneath and a variety of fibers—hair, wool, hay, and other such things. Grabbing fistfuls of its contents, she stuffed them down the golem’s neck while evading the swipes of its hands, cackling as the rocks banged around all the gears inside of it. When she was done, she knelt on one of its shoulders and extended her hand out to the open seam in the neck. Magically conjured grease materialized from the pores in her hands, oozing into the golem’s chest cavity.

Meanwhile, Benny had drawn his swords and was charging at the golem on the right, since the one in the center was walking backwards, clutching at its chest cavity vulnerably; Charming was doing _something_ inside of it, but it was anyone’s guess as to what, exactly—at least he had it preoccupied. The mercenary’s approach was to attack the creature at its legs, thrusting his swords to pierce the exposed joints whenever he could provoke the golem into providing an opening by bending its knees and ankles in a certain way.

He’d dance around it in a very practiced manner, like an actor in a choreographed play, swinging, slashing, and thrusting his weapons when the moment called for it. There was some awkwardness in his movement, but for the most part, he had learned great control over the body that life dealt him. It wouldn’t be long before the golem toppled over, with its legs half-severed already.

Astarion might not even need to lift a finger in this fight! How fortunate! He disliked getting his hands dirty when he could, and he was content to simply stand guard and watch Elganon’s back. The rest of the team looked like they had things handled. The golem Charming was in was stuck autonomously backing away perpetually, even when the snake emerged from it—no doubt it would eventually fall into the pit they all had to cross earlier. Kahira had set flame to the insides of her golem with a fireball cantrip that Astarion previously wasn’t aware that she knew, and her eyes were glimmering in the glow of the inferno bursting from the seams. Benny was…

Wait, when did Benny get knocked to the ground?

The half-orc couldn’t get up, though he was trying to. When that didn’t work right away, he tried rolling, but had no luck with that, either. He was stuck prone on the floor and in a panic while the golem he was facing slowly lifted a severely damaged leg, intent on stomping him into paste if it could get its massive foot up high enough. Why wasn’t the fool calling for help? He clearly needed it!

Nobody ever helped _Astarion_ when he had to survive on his own over the years. If Benny was going to die here, then so be it. If he couldn’t survive on his own, then he deserved everything that he got, even if that meant being squished to death by several tons of solid stone, metal, and machinery. Astarion’s life would be better off for it. He wouldn’t have to contend with the half-orc for Elganon’s affections anymore, nor deal with Benny’s grumblings about his moral choices, nor would he have to see that hideous face ever again.

And yet, Astarion found himself dashing to the man’s help. Why? He didn’t know, honestly.

“I’ve got you! Come on! Get up!” the elf demanded, pulling on Benny’s wrists as hard as he could. “Hurry, damn you! We haven’t got much time!”

Benny furrowed his brow questioningly at Astarion, but he didn’t turn away the help that was offered. With the vampire’s assistance, he was able to shakily get back on his feet. He was tugged out of the shadow of the golem’s foot as it came crashing down, splitting the floor tiles into fragments.

“Thanks, mate. I owe ya one,” said the half-orc, chuckling anxiously at how close he came to an abrupt death.

Astarion gave him that _begone, peasant_ look that he tended to get on his face when dealing with people he didn’t care much for. “Consider us even for the time you saved me.” He took out his dagger, now analyzing the next movements of the golem. “And we’re not friends, so don’t call me your _mate_.”

Benny shrugged his shoulders, deciding that the sentiment was mutual. “Figure of speech,” he corrected himself. 

If Astarion wanted to perpetuate the animosity between them, he wouldn’t argue with it. He was accustomed to alliances with people who didn’t like him. They didn’t have to be friends to be allies, but at least he now knew that Astarion was willing to help. That mattered more than anything else, really.

Astarion muttered a spell that allowed himself to leap an unnatural distance onto the golem’s back, so that he could stick his dagger inside and attempt to disrupt the gears spinning inside of it. Benny, now with his wits about him again, collected his scattered swords and kept the construct distracted, focusing more on defense than on offense this time. There was no sense in risking another perilous fall if Astarion could successfully disable it with little to distract him from his work.

As soon as the last two golems toppled over Kahira slowed her and Astarion’s descent with a Feather Fall incantation, consuming her last spell of the day. When her feet touched the ground, she hugged her empty potato sack tightly, appearing very sleepy.

“That was fun,” she murmured with a yawn. “Let’s do that again sometime.”

“Let’s not,” said Astarion, sulking at her. Charming, once he slithered his way back to the group, curled around the elf’s leg and found a perch once more around his shoulders, going back to sleep right away.

Benny sheathed his swords, approaching Elganon when the door finally unlocked and slid open with a soft hum of magic and spinning cogs. He clapped the short half-elf on the back proudly, inadvertently startling the poor young man. “Well, that’s me done for today. Fuckin’ Hells, that all could’ve gone better.”

Elganon chuckled, smiling up at his friend. “Could’ve gone worse, too, I suppose… Actually, I could list several ways in which it could’ve gone worse, if you’d like—"

Benny laughed. “Always lookin’ on the bright side, eh, Elg?” he teased.

The warlock’s slender fingers drummed along Thomas’ temples as the group walked into the main chamber, now that it was revealed to them. “I try…”

“Elganon, stop that,” mumbled the skull. “You’re giving me a headache.”

“Sorry, Thomas.”

“Took you long enough!” Gale announced as the other half of their team came in, spreading his arms wide invitingly with a big smirk on his lips.

Astarion scowled at the cocky wizard, walking over to prod him in the chest with a finger. “We were busy fighting off the golems!”

“Golems?” said Shadowheart, lifting an eyebrow curiously. “You mean the inanimate statues at the door?” She held her hand out towards the hallway their half of the party came from, appearing amused. Not a single one on their side had budged when they passed.

“Some of them came to life!” Astarion insisted, mirroring her gesture. She could see that, indeed, a few of them had moved in the opposite hallway.

“Glad I wasn’t on _your_ side, then” she mumbled.

Lae’zel sighed aggravatedly. “I wish that I _had_ been. It sounds like _your_ route had more of a worthy challenge. All _we_ did was walk through an empty hallway, find a few chests full of scrolls and bits of gold—the one Mimic was the only creature of note that we encountered—, and watched Gale disarm a few cantrips. Such a waste of my skills…”

Astarion’s jaw dropped. “ _What_?”

Wyll snickered. “I think most of the traps on our side were broken. For the most part, we were able to walk right on through without any problems. Pretty boring—doesn’t make for a good story for my personal legend—but I can’t complain too much. There’s many more dangerous and daring adventures to come for the Blade of Frontiers, I’m sure.”

“And Benny,” said the half-orc, pointing at Wyll and shooting him a grin. Apparently at some point, they’d agreed to try out traveling together, just the two of them, once the party’s quest was complete.

The human warlock nodded and laughed. “And Benny,” he confirmed. “Still got to come up with a cool title for you, Ben, but I’m sure it’ll come on its own when we get started with our adventure.”

The party followed Gale’s lead as they searched through the chamber, looking for any research pertaining to the Illithid species and particularly their methods of reproduction. All except for Astarion, who remained frozen in shock that metamorphosized into boiling anger.

“ _That’s it_ ,” the elf grumbled through grinding teeth, then he began to shout. “I’m never doing anything like this again! From now onward, we _never_ split the party!”

Sometimes he felt like he was the only one in their crew who had any sense. Honestly, what kind of idiot ever split the party?

At any rate, he wondered if Elganon might be up for a little adventure of their own once they made camp on the way back to Baldur’s Gate that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "When I was younger, so much younger than today, I never needed anybody's help in any way. But now these days are gone, I'm not so self-assured. Now I find I've changed my mind and opened up the doors."
> 
> Recommended Listening: Help! by The Beatles


	19. Nature's Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While their party is setting up camp on the way back to Baldur's Gate, Astarion and Elganon find some time to sneak away and work out some of their stress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I swear I didn't fall off the face of the planet. It's just been a rough couple of weeks lately for me IRL. Being squashed to death by work, physical pain, and depression. Feels bad, man. Thankfully, the boiz cheer me up some with their goofy antics. Super sorry for the delay, if anyone was looking forward to more chapters. 
> 
> (Sadly, Astarion's new romance cutscene is bugged for me and gives me chat bubbles rather than the actual cutscene, so I may have to update the screenshot later. The current one is basically a placeholder until I can get it fixed. To do that, I'll probably just have to start my game over again. Man, this has been a terrible week all around.))

* * *

Something about Elganon made him seem freer and more relaxed with the recent distance between himself and his demon patron. His mind was clearer, and his thoughts less morbid than Astarion was accustomed to. He was happier—not that he would consciously admit to that out of loyalty to the demon—and he cried a little less. 

Then again, it might have all been coincidental. They weren’t sure if they’d found anything of real merit in their exploration of the abandoned research facility. Gale, Charming, and Thomas would have to study their findings first once they all got back to Baldur’s Gate, but they all had a little more hope for curing their mind flayer parasite problem than they did before. That was a start.

For now, while they were roughing it in the wilderness once again, they made the most of the sunny days when they stopped to make camp before nightfall. Astarion and Elganon especially enjoyed the pleasant calm of the outdoors. He never thought he’d feel this way, but Astarion was beginning to prefer the beauty of nature to the hustle and bustle of the city. It might’ve been something in his elven blood calling to him, and only now, after centuries of ignoring it, had he paused to listen. Or maybe, it was because his lover was so liberated and carefree out in the wild.

The pair had stripped themselves of their clothes, since it was just the two of them after they’d snuck away from camp together while the others in their party were getting settled in, as they often did. Astarion sat in the grass, picking at the tiny little flowers that grew here and there while watching with a smile as Elganon basked in the fresh air with his arms held out to feel the pleasant breeze. Elganon was more in-touch with his human side, but in moments like this, Astarion saw a bit more of his elven half.

Astarion _adored_ those cute little dimples in Elganon’s backside. He got excited whenever he saw them and would chew on his lip in an attempt to contain himself. He didn’t notice at any point that he rose up from the grass automatically, nor did Elganon since he had his back turned to him, crept forward while crouched, and opened his jaws to bite down on one of his lover’s supple cheeks. The soft flesh felt so good in his mouth, and the blood tasted even better. His tongue caressed the skin as the muscle underneath tensed at the painful bite.

“Ah~! A-Astarion,” Elganon gasped, running a hand down his lower back and sliding his fingers into the vampire’s curly hair. 

His muscles continued to tremble as his partner fed from him, and he felt a pleasurable tingle in his groin despite himself. His other hand wandered down to touch himself, at first pretending to be dissuading the length from rising, but he found that he’d much rather succumb to his more carnal desires by curling his fingers around his growing erection.

The elf reached around Elganon’s pelvis and assisted him, wrapping his hand around his beloved’s as they stroked the shaft together with Astarion guiding him. His jaw released his lover’s cheek, leaving it slick with saliva and small traces of pooling blood from the teeth marks, then he moved on to have a nibble of the other cheek, giving it a matching twin “kiss”.

Moaning against the flesh, Astarion used his free hand to slick his thumb on the lingering saliva, then separated one of Elganon’s cheeks from the other, thumbing at his back entrance while he stroked the man and drank more of his blood. It was the least he could do in exchange for the meal. Surprisingly, Elganon tried to resist the growing desire sparked by his lover’s administrations. 

“I-I’m not a _doe_ for you to hunt,” he grumbled, pushing Astarion’s head away to remove the sharp teeth from his backside.

Chuckling, the vampire leaned back in to lap at the bleeding bite marks with his tongue while fondling the half-elf with both hands. “Mm, oh, hush. I know you love it, dear.”

Elganon stumbled forward, pulling away from the elf entirely, and fell awkwardly onto the ground in his effort to escape Astarion’s grasp, kicking up fallen leaves on the way down. It only made his partner laugh harder, confused as to what he was trying to accomplish here. Was this his way of playing hard to get?

Getting onto all fours, the warlock turned around and pounced on Astarion. They rolled together in the grass, and came to a stop when the vampire, with an amused smirk, allowed the other man to end up on top of him, curious to see what he was up to. He expected Elganon was bending down to give him a kiss, but instead he was bitten on the shoulder with blunt teeth.

“Ow! Hey! What are you doing?” Astarion demanded.

Elganon lifted his head. “See? How do _you_ like being bitten without being asked first?”

The elf pouted, plucking a small twig out of the half-elf’s tangled hair. “I’m sorry, darling, but I was feeling hungry, and you looked so enticing that I couldn’t help myself. Could I _please_ have just another nibble of you? Your taste has been on my mind all day, and I’m parched.”

Elganon folded an arm on Astarion’s chest and used his other hand to draw invisible circles into his lover’s breast that he couldn’t take his eyes from. For someone who was undead, Astarion’s pallid body had a certain glow in the sunlight that crept in through the canopy of trees. “Alright, but…”

“Is something on your mind, pet?” Astarion wondered.

Elganon’s head lowered shamefully while his lover groomed his hair. “You’re going to think I’m _mad_ if I ask this…”

“What is it?”

“Could I…”

“Yes?”

“Could I taste some of yours, too? Y-Your blood, I mean.”

“ _What_?”

Elganon bashfully hid his face in Astarion’s chest, speaking with a muffled voice now. “I _told_ you that it was going to sound insane.”

Astarion blinked his eyes, unable to get over how shocking the question was. “But I thought you were a vegetarian. Why would you want to—”

“I don’t know.” Elganon sighed. “I guess after seeing you drink my blood for so long, it made me wonder what it must be like. You really seem to enjoy it.”

The elf patted his head. “That’s because I’m a vampire, sweetheart. I _need_ blood to survive.”

“Well, obviously. Forget I mentioned it. It was a stupid thought.” Turning his head on one side, Elganon watched as a pair of passing butterflies chased each other around a crooked old tree.

Astarion hated to hear his beloved sound so crestfallen. It couldn’t have been easy for him to confess such a strange desire. Of course, if Astarion was a true vampire, letting his lover sample his blood might have been dangerous, but as a mere spawn, it was likely harmless. He wasn’t sure. He’d never shared _his_ blood with anyone else since he’d become a vampire. Why would he?

Bringing his own wrist to his lips, Astarion tore into the flesh with his fangs, grunting in discomfort as blood dribbled down his arm. To his palate, it was disgusting and reminiscent of feeding from carrion. It bruised his ego somewhat to think that he tasted no different than a long-dead animal on the side of the road, and he didn’t feel great about offering something so vile to his partner. But if Elganon insisted…

“Here,” he said, holding his wrist out to the half-elf, drawing his attention.

Elganon locked eyes with him as he hesitantly grabbed onto Astarion’s arm and experimentally brought the wound to his mouth. He kissed it at first, then licked the blood from his lips.

Astarion winced. “It’s not very good, is it?” 

He knew that, because Elganon was mortal, it probably wasn’t going to be a great experience for him regardless, but it just didn’t seem fair that the half-elf should taste so delightful to him, yet his own essence was repulsive. That may as well have been the vampire equivalent to only one partner in a relationship enjoying the sex.

Elganon hummed contemplatively, then wrapped his lips around Astarion’s open wrist, sucking it gently. The vampire’s hardening length pressed against the half-elf’s abdomen firmly. Was this how Elganon felt when he was being fed from? It was exhilarating. Sexy, in a taboo way.

As much as Astarion wanted to continue watching him, he had to share in the pleasure. His fangs sank into the flesh between Elganon’s shoulder and neck, drinking just as slowly and savoring the taste. He almost lost track of how much he was taking until Elganon tapped him on the back to return him to the present moment.

“Mm… Are we done playing vampire, love?” The elf grinned, licking his teeth clean with a swipe of his tongue.

Elganon grinned back, showing that his own bloodstained teeth. He gave a playful hiss that Astarion laughed at.

“Silly little pup.” Astarion tickled his lover’s gums with a finger, then carefully tapped the tiny natural points on Elganon’s canine teeth. “Those little things couldn’t puncture wet parchment. If you _did_ eat meat, I doubt that you _could_. Not very effectively, at least.”

Elganon placed a hand on Astarion’s shoulder and rolled them onto their sides, propping his head up with the other arm and not seeming to mind when Astarion’s hand traveled to his hip, fondling very close to one of the bitemarks in his backside. “You could feed me like I’m a baby bird.”

Astarion’s nose wrinkled at the idea. “Elganon, that’s disgusting! Absolutely not.”

The half-elf played with the loose curls in his lover’s hair. “Oh, come on, you wouldn’t even do it if I were starving?” He was trying not to giggle.

“I mean…” What kind of hypothetical was _that_? It was hardly a fair one. “ _Of course_ , if you were _starving_ , but—”

“Aww.” Elganon scooted closer to pull Astarion into a hug. “That’s very sweet of you.”

The vampire huffed and nipped at his partner’s shorter ears as he hugged him back. “Your mind goes to strange places, you know that? And here I thought you were getting _saner_.”

“I’m plenty sane.”

“No, you’re not, darling. Not even close.”

“Well, who wants to be normal, anyway? “Normal” people scare me, honestly.”

“I think _everyone_ scares you.”

“Not true. You don’t scare me.”

“I should.” Astarion grimaced as those words left his own mouth, but he knew it was a fact. He _should_ frighten the young man for several reasons. Sometimes he pitied Elganon for trusting him as much as he did. Did he really deserve to be trusted after some of the things he’d pulled in the past?

Elganon was kissing his wrist again, as if it were his way of attempting to make it better. Shockingly, the tear in Astarion’s wrist _was_ sealing back up. Necromantic magic was weaving the skin back together. “Good as new.”

Astarion examined his wrist, feeling the mended skin. “Have you spoken to your patron lately?”

“No, Murmyr’s still giving me the cold shoulder. Why?”

“It just seems like your magic is getting stronger.”

Elganon shrugged. “I’ve been practicing more lately. Our travels have made that necessary, I suppose.”

Astarion appeared hopeful. “So, you don’t really _need_ your demon’s help anymore, do you?”

The warlock frowned. “Don’t say things like that, please. Murmyr’s my friend, regardless of what he has to offer me.” He laid on his back, suddenly appearing troubled. Birds soared high above the treetops, momentarily eclipsing the sun’s delicate rays, but even nature’s beauty hardly cheered him up. “I’m sure he’ll forgive me for…whatever it is I’ve done to make him so bitter soon. And then everything can go back to normal.”

He wasn’t as over his old “friend” as Astarion hoped, which made him wonder if Elganon’s feelings about the half-orc Benny had really changed any, either.

“Demons and devils alike only seek to destroy those they make deals with,” Astarion reminded him worriedly. “This “Murmyr” isn’t your—”

The half-elf’s soft lips brushed against the crook of the vampire’s neck. “Don’t worry about “saving” me, Astarion. I’m only worried about helping _you_.”

“That’s very kind, darling, but—”

“I’m very proud of you, you know. I’ve noticed that you’re trying your best to be a better person. I think that’s something I need to see as well. Sometimes I feel I’m losing my own sense of morality, and seeing you want to change… Well, it makes me want to change, too. Maybe it’s not all just about day-to-day survival, is it?” Elganon smiled, bringing their bodies closer until their pelvises touched. With his eyes closed, he rocked his hips against Astarion’s, giggling and sighing at the pleasant feeling of their genitals rubbing against each other, encouraging similar sounds from the vampire.

Astarion never had a lover like Elganon before. Sometimes their sexual encounters would be brief, but energizing, while other times they would fool around for hours like this, toying with each other’s arousal off and on. There were even occasions where they never actually had sex at all, per se. They’d stimulate one another, and simply bask in the thrill of being erect and excited until the sensation faded. 

It took Astarion a while to get used to that, but once he was, he discovered that it often heightened his pleasure later. His lust-filled mind would wander to his lover for hours on end afterwards, contemplating what he would do the next time they had a moment alone. Because of this, when they were among others, the elf had made a habit of occasionally pulling Elganon somewhere discreet and utilizing the minute or two they had before anyone else noticed to fondle, kiss him, or coax his partner into touching him down below. 

Elganon always fussed whenever that happened, but the way he would deftly and eagerly cup and massage Astarion’s loins through his trousers suggested that he was far from unhappy to oblige. The practice made walking for miles on end difficult, but it put a certain spring in Astarion’s step. Elganon’s, too. It made people a bit suspicious of what they’d gotten up to when the lugubrious warlock was suddenly grinning from ear-to-ear as he magnetized towards Astarion more blatantly than usual.

But lately, Astarion had been so starved for his lover’s affections that he lacked the patience to leave their rendezvous at mere teasing, and he behaved as if every time they were alone together was their last.

“Darling, I hate to stop what you’re doing, but look in my pack,” he said breathlessly, pointing at the bag discarded beside their clothing. “Mm, I “picked up” a little something when we were out shopping the other day.”

“Stealing, more like. We barely did any actual shopping,” Elganon teased as he rolled over towards the pack to dig inside of it. “Is it the little box you want?”

“It is,” said Astarion with a fanged smirk. “Go ahead and open it.”

Sitting up Elganon popped open the clasp on the lid and peeked inside, then slammed it shut again with a start, red-faced. “Is that a marble cock?”

Astarion got onto his belly and kicked up his heels, resting his chin atop his crossed fingers with a devious smile that feigned innocence poorly. 

“Isn’t it precious, love? I haven’t tried it out yet; I wanted to wait on you before I gave it a go.” He crawled on his hands and knees towards Elganon, laying his head in the young man’s lap so that he could brush his face against the waning erection and caress it in his hand. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately about that story you told me. The one involving the popsicle. Ever since you told it to me, I’ve been fantasizing about you inserting something like that into me, ravishing me with it.”

Elganon’s legs spread out, and he was taking heavier breaths. “H-Hah, really?” He wanted to tell Astarion that he had similar thoughts, but with the roles reversed. It surprised him that his lover wanted _him_ to be the one holding the popsicle in their shared fantasy.

“Would you mind humoring me?” The vampire kissed up and down the shaft in front of his face, then slid his tongue along the length, slowly making it rise again.

Now words were difficult for the warlock to give form to, but he managed to say, “O-Only if you say please.”

A vibration was sent through the hardening skin of Elganon’s manhood when the lips pressed against them hummed a laugh. 

“Please,” Astarion cooed in a throaty voice before wrapping his lips around the side of the length, sucking as he kissed it up and down while his palm held the other side, pressing the erection into his mouth.

Elganon struggled to pluck the dildo out of the velvet-lined metal box when he opened it again, catching it before he dropped it. He lubricated it with a bottle of his special concoction that he found in Astarion’s pack. When he bent his body towards Astarion’s exposed backside, both men found themselves laying on their sides next to each other in the grass, and Astarion had taken his lover’s cock into his mouth zealously. Elganon, in turn, spread the vampire’s legs and pushed the head of the marble dildo inside, meeting slight resistance when his partner naturally tensed up at the foreign intrusion.

To assist Astarion with relaxing, the half-elf grasped the tip of the elf’s member with his lips, folding his tongue along the head teasingly before taking more of the shaft into his mouth. Astarion groaned around the length now swallowed to the back of his own throat and bobbed his head appreciatively. The muscles clenched around the dildo relaxed, allowing it to slide in further, and Astarion wriggled into it, accidentally gagging his lover with his long cock when he pushed his hips forward.

“Mmh! Mmh!” Elganon patted him on the abdomen with his free hand as a warning.

Astarion made a garbled apology and eased up, but as soon as a few inches of the dildo had been slid out of him and back in again all the way to the tips of Elganon’s fingers that clutched the base, he’d done it again unconsciously.

“Mmh!” the warlock moaned, more irritably this time.

“Mmph,” Astarion huffed, annoyed but striving to be more mindful going forward. He was rewarded, as his patience permitted Elganon to focus on pleasuring him with the toy while doing the same with his mouth concurrently.

The cool marble, warmed slightly by the unique lubricant, was pleasantly hard and moved smoothly inside of the elf with each thrust. Astarion trembled when it was teasingly jostled around whenever it was as deep as it would go. He rolled his hips in the opposite direction.

He never thought he’d be _letting_ anyone do this to him, but this was amazing. This was how it was _supposed_ to feel when one had intimate fun involving toys with their partner. It was liberating to let go of all inhibitions and allow another to play with his body, knowing that his lover would stop right away if he asked, not that he wanted to. He trusted Elganon, and he hoped that the sentiment was mutual.

Though Elganon didn’t want him to be rough on _his_ mouth, that didn’t mean Astarion couldn’t play as rough with his own if he wanted to, so long as he didn’t bite. So, he quickened his pace as his mouth slid up and down on Elganon’s erect phallus, going as fast as he could. Unlike the half-elf, Astarion barely had a gag reflex anymore, if he had one at all.

As Astarion went faster, so did Elganon, both with his mouth and his hand holding the toy. The vampire’s muscles were constricting around the toy again, but not from discomfort; he was close to the edge. It was funny to think how experienced Elganon had become with Astarion’s help; he somehow knew his partner was about to come, and he now pushed the toy past the resistance with great care and expert timing.

The elf pressed the head of his manhood into Elganon’s uvula, spilling his semen down the back of his lover's throat and coating the walls of it in thick, milky ejaculate that was swallowed eagerly the moment it hit. Astarion was reluctant to move, until he remembered that his partner actually needed to breathe. There was a gasp for air from the warlock as the limp cock was removed from his mouth, but Astarion kept going with his own administrations, gliding his tongue against Elganon’s shaft.

“Astarion, wait.” Elganon coughed weakly, taking the toy out of the vampire’s backside. “Stop.”

The vampire obeyed, bringing his head up. “What’s wrong? Is something the matter?”

“N-Nothing, just a bit choked up. But other than that, I…I would like to finish, erm…i-in your ar-arsehole, if I…could. Would that be alright?” Even though their affairs were often quite dirty, somehow Elganon continued to struggle with saying words he deemed as such.

Astarion laughed and got onto his back, propping himself up with his elbows, and spread his legs tantalizingly. “Of course, darling. Have at it.”

Elganon positioned himself onto his knees, wiping saliva from his lip with the back of his hand while the other clutched the base of the toy. “A-And one more thing, uh… You’re very flexible, I’ve noticed.”

The elf arched his eyebrow inquisitively. “Mmhm?”

“Would it be too much trouble to also ask you to, ah, hold this in me with your toe or something while I…?” The warlock held the dildo up, looking between it and his lover.

“Hm, well, I _suppose_ that learning how to share my toys would be part of my lessons in “being a better person”, wouldn’t it?”

“It _is_ a very nice toy, even if you stole it.”

“Would you say that my charity might make up for that?”

“I’m not exactly a priest, but—”

“I’m sure that if you _really_ wanted to be one, you could have been ordained as a priest of Loviatar by now. What’s his name—Abdirak seems to like you quite a bit.”

Elganon sighed, rolling his eyes. He didn’t want to think right now about how he was going to make amends for ignoring the forlorn cleric’s pleas for him to visit his goddess’ temple as frequently as he used to. “Oh, hush, you. Just keep this in me while I f-fu-fuck you senseless, alright?”

“Ooh,” Astarion purred, putting a finger to his lip coyly. “Well, since you said the magic words, how could I decline?”

Elganon seemed confused. “But I didn’t say “please” or “thank you”…”

Astarion spread his legs wider, urging his partner to get on with it. “Darling, for me, the magic words are: “Fuck you senseless.”, obviously.”

“Oh. Right.”

The half-elf crawled on top of him, then after preparing the dildo and his erection with what was left of the lubricant, stuffed the marble cock inside of himself with a moan. Astarion embraced him with his legs, pulling him closer, and held the base of the toy still with his foot while Elganon entered him at the pace that the vampire’s firm legs set. The thrusts were short because Astarion’s legs had him gripped like a vice, but fast. 

Astarion wanted to be fucked in the same way he had been in his mouth earlier, and he got exactly what he wished for. He was being rutted into with animalistic and enthusiastic grunts as he was held tightly, fingers caressing the scar-like tattooing on his back. Elganon craned his head downward, taking one of Astarion’s nipples into his mouth and nipping at the delicate bud, making it harder each time the teeth and lips came down on it.

“Ah~! Oh, darling, when did you become such a _beast_? I _love_ it!” Astarion sighed, tilting his head back on the earth. “ _Yes_! Make me your _bitch_!”

Elganon’s pointed ears burned hotly, and his heartbeat and panting quickened. His partner’s encouragement bolstered his self-confidence, and it showed in his lovemaking. He dug his toes into the dirt to grant himself better leverage, trying to plant himself further inside the vampire, scrotum smacking against his backside. He was driven wild when Astarion began to move his toe in a circular motion, rolling the hard toy around inside of him.

“Astarion!” 

It was all too much at once. Elganon climaxed inside of the elf, pressing his fingernails into the scarred flesh on Astarion’s back. With one final push, the warlock lost his foothold in the ground and collapsed in exhaustion on his lover’s body, catching his breath and sweating profusely. He was impressed that Astarion was capable of removing the toy from him using only his toes.

The vampire discarded the toy next to the box it came from with a flick of his ankle while releasing it from his toes. “Thank you for all of that, darling. I really needed it. It seems you did as well.” He chuckled.

Astarion allowed his lover to stay inside of him for a while longer, enjoying the sensation of being stretched full as he lazily laid back in the soft grass with the fading beams of sunlight from above dancing along his sallow skin. It was always good to be warm like this, both inside and out. It was the feeling that all vampires instinctively sought to rekindle.

But the moment wasn’t destined to last. Elganon’s face suddenly contorted, which worried Astarion.

“Everything alright, dear?”

“One of us is going to have to move.”

Astarion grinned. “Does it have to be me?”

Elganon hurriedly got up and stumbled over to a nearby bush, nearly toppling over it. The vampire went over to him to see what was wrong. The half-elf was retching into the shrubbery. Most of what came out was the blood he’d imbibed from Astarion’s wrist.

Astarion winced. “Oh… I suppose that makes sense, since I am, well…a corpse…” It was surreal to think of it like that. Astarion _felt_ alive. More so than he ever was when he _was_ alive, except for the few drawbacks. In terms of energy, he could run a marathon at a moment’s notice. He couldn’t do that when he was alive and in his prime.

It was a terrible idea to let Elganon drink his blood, regardless of what _kind_ of vampire he was. There was still the factor of him being _deceased._

Elganon tilted his head up, delirious from expelling the contents of his stomach. “You’re not helping, Astarion.” Apparently, his stomach wasn’t finished ejecting everything because he was right back at it.

“Should I hold your hair back, or… Ah, well, a bit late for that now.”

“Eugh…”

“Imagine how I feel, darling. I had to _watch_ the whole thing. It wasn’t pretty.”

Elganon groaned again, even more pitifully while slumping against the bush.

“Come along, dear, before you prick your prick on a nettle or something.” Astarion hoisted him up carefully into his arms, cradling the half-elf and keeping his head elevated. “Let’s get you cleaned up. I saw a pond on the way here. We can fetch our things on the way back. You smell dreadful.”

“Thanks,” Elganon grumbled with partial sarcasm over the unnecessary comment about his current scent. At least he was coming to his senses again. “You can be very nice and thoughtful when you want to be, love,” he said more sincerely, clinging to the elf. “Do you think you could be this kindhearted _all_ the time?”

The elf carried him in the direction of the pond, minding the mess. “I don’t know about _all_ the time, but—” Astarion paused in his tracks. “Did call me “love” just then?”

“What? N-No, I think you misheard.”

“Bollocks. You called me “love”.”

“I’ve not.”

“You have!”

Elganon sulked, waving his hand for Astarion to keep moving so that he could get the sick off himself already, and though he was obliged in that, the elf wasn’t about to let their dispute go so easily.

“I’m not making fun of you, darling, I _like_ the idea of you calling me things like that,” Astarion explained. Once they were at the pond, he knelt to dip Elganon into the water, but waited for the other man to plug his nose and close his eyes before submerging him entirely. 

The half-elf looked a lot better when his head popped back out of the water. He leaned his upper body against the edge of the pond and peered up at Astarion, still in a bit of a mood. 

“You won’t laugh at me if I do?” he asked skeptically, parting his wet black hair. Right now, he had the appearance of a sorry siren. Cute, but wretched.

Astarion crouched down, sinking a finger into the water to test that it was calm enough and wouldn’t burn him to the touch. Determining that it was safe, he joined his lover in the warm water, floating alongside him. 

“Only affectionately,” he promised, doing a few backstrokes. Neither of them was the greatest of swimmers, and they both seemed rather silly in how awkwardly they bobbed along in the water like children learning how to float without drowning. At least no one else was here to see them make fools of themselves.

Elganon dogpaddled after Astarion, puffing his cheeks up to keep his head above water until he caught up. “I suppose I could try it…honey?” The pet name felt weird in his own mouth. Astarion had more of a knack for making terms of endearment sound natural.

The elf laughed, and Elganon didn’t like that too much.

“ _What_?” the warlock demanded, pouting.

“I like the way that you say it: ‘Honeh!’” Astarion giggled again.

Elganon glared at him. “I can’t help how I say things!”

“It’s cute!”

“Well, don’t _laugh_ at it!”

“I can’t help it!”

“Hmph…” Elganon paddled closer to peck Astarion’s cheek with wet lips. “Love you, meanie.”

Astarion really couldn’t resist. “Ah lohv yeh, tyoo, honeh!”

“I don’t sound like that!”

The vampire began to parrot his accent exaggeratedly again. “Ah don’t—"

“Astarion, if you don’t pack it in already, I’ll—”

“Astaryon, if yew—”

That’s when Elganon started splashing him in the face with water. Luckily, especially since he hadn’t thought about it first, that kind of moving water apparently didn’t have the effect of acid on undead flesh. It must have had to be a naturally moving body of water to do any damage, which partially explained why Astarion could drink wine without searing out his throat, not that he needed any since he was foolish enough sober.

It was then that Astarion realized his feet could reach the pond’s floor at this depth, and he stood up, hovering over Elganon in a playfully intimidating manner. “So, you want to play _that_ way, hm?”

Elganon stood as well, but his shorter height put him at a disadvantage when Astarion chased him around and rolled heavy waves into him with his longer arms. The half-elf shielded his face, and he was a pathetic sight to behold as he focused all of his efforts on fleeing rather than splashing back, now that he knew he’d been beaten already.

“Why couldn’t I have been born one of the _tall_ half-elves!? This isn’t fair! Elves are supposed to be shorter!” Elganon cried out while he was splashed in the back with wave after wave, spitting out water when some of it arced over his head and ran down his face. On the bright side, his mouth was cleaner now.

“You were the one who started this!” Astarion reminded him, continuing his lighthearted assault.

“D’you know what your new pet name is now!?”

“What is it, dear?”

“Wanker!”

“Oh, come now!”

“You’re a wanker, Astarion! A right bastard!”

The elf grabbed his lover from behind by his waist and held him in his arms. “But you still love me, right?”

Elganon huffed. “Of course,” After some thought, he added, “lovie.”

His face scrunched up and he smiled brightly when Astarion nuzzled the tips of their noses together.

Astarion may have remained undecided about whether he truly relished being in the wilderness over the city as Elganon did, but at least whenever they were out in the middle of a forest together, their problems seemed miles away. Right now, Astarion didn’t hear the chilling call of his master, nor was Elganon being whispered to by a dark otherworldly creature, as far as either could tell. In this moment, even the mind flayer tadpoles in their brains were at rest.

It probably wouldn’t last, but for the time being, everything was perfect. They would enjoy it while they could. Why not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "If only the world wouldn't get in the way. If only people would just let you play. They say you're both being fools. You're breaking all the rules."
> 
> Recommended Listening: Best of Friends by Pearl Bailey


	20. The Morning After Midwinter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astarion wakes up the day after Midwinter to a troubling surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Happy holidays, everyone! I felt it was fitting to upload this one the day after Christmas, considering the timeframe of the story currently.
> 
> Also, if you haven't read the one-shot Dreary Deadwinter, Merry Midwinter, it adds additional context to what's going on here in this chapter, although I do explain it here as well!)

It was the morning after Midwinter Day, and Astarion couldn’t for the life of him remember why he was wearing a ring on his finger when he woke up next to his lover. He knew he had a lot to drink at dinner that night, but surely not _that_ much.

Sitting up in bed, Astarion peered down at Elganon, who was smiling and making light humming noises in his peaceful sleep. Smiling himself, he stroked the half-elf’s cheek with the back of his finger. As tempting as it was, he wouldn’t wake the man prematurely to have his questions answered. He vaguely recalled that there was once a time when Elganon tended to look so miserable and fitful while asleep, and he didn’t want to rob him of any rare moments of serenity. He understood fully what it was like to be plagued by nightmares.

Instead, he pried the ring off his finger and inspected it more closely. There was an inscription that wrapped around the inside of the band in small print: _For My Brightest Star – Elganon_.

With trembling hands, Astarion slipped the ring back on the finger that he took it from.

Did he…did he accept a proposal for marriage last night?

No, that couldn’t be. Astarion loved Elganon and all, but marriage was… Well, it was a lot. It was a commitment he never wanted to be tied down by. From what he’d always seen of married couples, matrimony appeared to be a death sentence for personal freedom and romance, so why would he ever consider getting married? It was a silly thought, and something he’d _never_ agree to.

Yet, he was wearing this ring on the finger that one typically wore a wedding band.

_That doesn’t mean anything_ , he reasoned with himself. _It could just be a nice little gift._

Yes, that was probably it: A sentimental gift from one sweetheart to another.

…Alright, he was being delusional here. It was obvious that if he’d been given a ring like this, it was clearly a proposal. He didn’t know what to make of that, but maybe the situation he found himself in could prove beneficial somehow.

In retrospect, if he’d known what Elganon was going to give him for Midwinter, Astarion might have gotten him something a little more tasteful than lingerie. On that note, he probably should have warned his lover not to open the box right in front of everybody after dinner, but the reactions were so priceless that it was worth neglecting to mention it. Astarion had a difficult time resisting a good laugh.

With Elganon still fast asleep, Astarion carefully slipped out of bed, put on some clothing, and went downstairs where he encountered Benny, who was seated in his chair where he usually kept watch at the start of his mornings on duty. As always, Benny was rubbing his pained legs, grumbling and swearing under his breath, before leaning over to pick his flask up from the floor and take a sip. It was a little early to be drinking, but Astarion reasoned that it must have kept the pain at bay, not to mention that the half-orc had drank heavily the night before and was probably trying to stave off a hangover.

“’starion,” Benny mumbled, wiping the booze from his lips and nodding at the vampire before turning his gaze back towards the apothecary’s entrance.

“Benny,” the elf said back, striking a somewhat playful pose and grinning. Should he tell him about his recent engagement to Benny's childhood companion? “I take it you enjoyed last night’s holiday festivities?”

The mercenary snorted, tousling his mousy brown hair that was even more stringy than Elganon’s. He didn’t really want to reflect on the more frustrating aspects of the event, in which he essentially had to play babysitter at a few points, particularly during dinner. “Hmph. Bit chaotic, but that’s Deadwinter for ya.”

Astarion bent forward with his hands placed on his hips. “Well, I had fun.”

“Good for you.”

The elf held out his hand with the ring on it, wiggling his fingers pridefully.

Benny blinked at the glimmer he caught, and he squinted his eyes. “Wuzzat?” Astarion came closer, and even permitted—just this once—the half-orc to grab him by the hand to take a better look. “That a ring?”

“Do you know who gave it to me?” A smug smile crept up on Astarion’s pale face when Benny didn’t answer right away. He could tell that the half-orc’s stomach was sinking, and it wasn’t because of the alcohol or the hangover. “It’s an _engagement_ ring,” the vampire added, not because it needed to be said, but because he wanted to rub it in.

Benny let go of his hand, taking an even deeper swig from his flask. “ _Good for you_ ,” he said, more bitterly this time. Now he was outright _refusing_ to make eye-contact with the elf.

Astarion gloated, looking the cock of the walk as he basked in the man’s reaction. “Of course, Elganon and I probably aren’t jumping right into marriage anytime soon, but you’re more than welcome to attend the wedding, if you’d like. I imagine he’d want you there, anyway,” he said in the haughtiest tone he could muster, examining his clean nails.

Even if nothing else good came of apparently accepting Elganon’s request for marriage, this moment alone made it all worth it.

“Oh, piss off,” Benny spat, waving a hand. “If you think I’m jealous of you, think again. It’s not about that. It’s about the fact that there’s no way in Hells someone like you wants to settle down and play house, and take it seriously.” He wobbled as he clumsily got to his feet, grabbing Astarion by the collar. “If you’re doin’ this just as some kind of game, you’d better think twice, mate. Because I won’t fuckin’ stand for it.”

Astarion peered down at the half-orc’s trembling legs, then met his gaze again, grinning wider and showing his fangs. “I’m not afraid of you. For one, you can barely stand at all.”

So much for their foolish rivalry being over with, Benny thought, as he threw down his flask and drew back a fist with the intent of punching the vampire right in the face. Unfortunately, he was stopped by the fact that Elganon had come down the stairs, rubbing his eyes tiredly and yawning. Before the young half-elf could see what was going on, Benny pushed Astarion away and took a few awkward steps back himself, putting some distance between himself and the elf.

“Mornin’, Elg,” the half-orc muttered, coughing into his fist and putting his hands behind his back to straighten his posture. He pointedly ignored the fact that Astarion was leering at him.

“Good morning, Benny,” said Elganon, coming over to give him a hug before standing at Astarion’s side and taking the elf’s hand into his own while smiling sweetly. “Did Astarion tell you the news?”

“He did,” Benny grunted, eyeing the self-satisfied vampire sharply. “Congratulations. It’s about time you found some happiness in this shitehole of a city.”

Astarion couldn’t stop himself from being a nuisance, especially not while Elganon was present to encourage the mercenary to hold his tongue. “So, you’re _happy_ for us, are you?” He swung his and Elganon’s clasped hands back and forth while curling some of his light hair around a finger.

_One of you, anyway_ , was what Benny wanted to say, but knew that he couldn’t.

“Positively chuffed, mate,” was the disingenuous answer that he actually gave. “Absolutely.”

“Thanks, Benny,” said Elganon, nuzzling his face into Astarion’s arm. “Looming doom aside, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this positive about the future. You’re out of prison and alive, I’ve found the love of my life, I’ve got more friends, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this connected with my adoptive family than I have in recent times—” But something was missing, causing him to appear slightly sad. “I just wish Murmyr wasn’t so cross with me. If it weren’t for that and the tadpole, I think everything would be perfect.”

“Forget about the demon,” said Astarion.

“You don’t need Murmyr,” Benny said at the same time.

The elf and the half-orc exchanged glances, then returned their focus on the half-elven warlock.

“Once that Gale fellow finishes rummaging ‘round through those books ‘e’s got, I’m sure the whole brain worm mess’ll be over with for good,” said Benny encouragingly.

Elganon looked up at Astarion, beaming dreamily at the vampire. “And then we can get married.”

Benny frowned. “Yeah… Good for you…”

* * *

Later that night, when Madam Mum was told the news about Elganon and Astarion’s engagement (Astarion really wasn’t sure how he felt about his lover bragging about it to nearly everyone—it put a lot of pressure on him), she insisted on treating them to some celebratory drinks at the brothel. 

Because she stayed over at the tower for Deadwinter Night, Benny had to come along to help her carry her overnight bags—of which she had too many—back to the brothel, not that he minded. It meant that he could keep an eye on Elganon and Astarion, and make sure that they weren’t getting up to any sort of trouble that the vampire might suggest. There would be no jiggery-pokery on Benny’s watch.

Besides, the mercenary could really go for another drink or two, anyway. He was still reeling from the night before. In the back of his mind, he wondered if he finally did let Lae’zel have her way with him. Everything was kind of a blur after she put him into a chokehold under a sprig of mistletoe when he was piss drunk, but it would have explained why he was especially sore all day. 

Ah, well, such things tended to happen. He was just glad he still had his cock and balls intact after…whatever transpired. That was a point of concern for him, when the githyanki had propositioned him rather aggressively in the past. He only hoped that the incident wouldn’t shake the friendship he had going with Wyll, honestly.

After a few drinks at the private table that they procured in one corner of the brothel, the tension between Benny and Astarion seemingly dissipated, at least for now. Benny, Astarion, and Elganon were laughing and carrying on, exchanging any entertaining story that came to mind over the course of their merriment.

“So, you two an’ Mim, ay?” Benny asked, nudging Elganon and grinning at Astarion. “Hells, that doesn’t come as a shock. The tension between Elg an’ Mim was so thick, as far as I remember, that you could…” He paused, waving his hand in a chopping motion. “You could, like… Y’know…” He kept making the motion, grimacing, and grunting when he couldn’t recall the saying.

“Cut it with a knife?” Astarion finished helpfully, lifting the wine glass back up to his lips for another drink.

Benny snapped his fingers and pointed at the elf. “Bang on.”

The vampire smirked. “Oh, we most certainly did, even after she left the room.” He was fabricating the actual ending to that encounter, of course. He wasn’t about to admit that he cried like a little baby in Elganon’s arms when the poor young woman sprinted fearfully out of her own room upstairs, unable to keep his cock up.

Elganon drunkenly knitted his brows together, aware of the discrepancy in Astarion’s version of the story. “Did we…?”

Astarion glowered, sloshing the last bit of wine in his glass. “Yes, darling, we most certainly did. You were screaming my name and carrying on the entire night.” He continued drowning himself in wine after refilling his glass back to the top.

Benny snickered, downing another mug of ale. “Guess it wasn’t all that memorable…”

“Nonsense,” the vampire argued. “I simply have a way of shagging the memories right out of this one right here,” he said, pointing at Elganon. The half-elf blushed. “Isn’t that right, love?”

“Ri-Right, exactly,” Elganon agreed bashfully, if only to please his husband-to-be. “Where is Mimsy, anyway? I know she was at the party last night, but I haven’t seen her all day today.”

As if on cue, the young lady in question dashed over to the table, placing a kiss on his, then Astarion’s cheeks. With her, she’d brought another bottle of wine for Astarion and Elganon and a pitcher of ale for Benny. 

“Mum tells me you’re going to get married soon,” she said to the couple. “Can I be the bridesmaid? Er… Groomsmaid? However that works.”

Elganon glanced over at Astarion in search of his opinion, but the elf only raised an eyebrow at him.

“I guess you can,” said Elganon, shrugging at her.

“Yes!” Mimsy clapped her hands excitedly. Then, she decided to push her luck. “…Can I come to the honeymoon as well?”

Elganon tittered nervously. “That’s asking a bit _much_ , don’t you think?”

“Can’t blame a girl for tryin’,” said Benny, grinning and helping himself to more ale.

“Damn,” Mimsy sighed. “Oh, well. Let me know if you change your mind.” She began to leave the table to help with serving the other customers, but she turned around briefly. “ _And_ , let me know if you two need anything else tonight. Y’know…” She winked.

Astarion raised his glass to her. “A bit of privacy would be nice,” he responded sarcastically, earning him an irritated look and a frustrated sigh from the woman, who stormed off childishly at the remark.

Benny laughed. “I think it’s cute how much she likes you two, all things considered.”

“It’s strange… I never imagined I’d have admirers later in life,” Elganon mused, nursing on what was only his third glass of wine (compared to the entire bottle that Astarion downed so far) with bird-sized tastes of it.

The half-orc tapped on the table with his large fingers. “You always had admirers, Elg,” he muttered solemnly.

“Are you feeling alright, Benny?” Elganon asked him, noticing his change in demeanor.

Benny touched his own forehead, noticing he was sweating profusely, and probably had been for a while now. “Ehh, I’m a little lightheaded, now that you mention it,” he confessed. “Think I should head back to the tower. Got to relieve Vaylen of ‘er shift.”

“But you had the morning watch,” Elganon pointed out. “It should be Rook’s turn, shouldn’t it?”

“Drank ‘imself sick last night, ‘e did,” Benny explained. “Told ‘im ‘e could sleep in. No skin off my back, really.” He got up and teetered, looking even worse for wear than he was earlier on in the day. He seemed ill.

Elganon’s worry increased. “You’re sure you can make it back on your own?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” the mercenary insisted, hiking his belt up higher on his waist. “Don’t hurry home on my account. Hells, stay overnight ‘ere if ya want. Mum won’t mind; she never does when it’s family. Congrats again, you two. On the whole marriage thing…”

When Benny hobbled off, Elganon reached across the table and placed his hand over Astarion’s, remaining concerned about the condition of his friend.

“Do you think he’ll be alright, Astarion?”

The vampire sighed, wrinkling his nose. “I don’t know,” he grumbled. “Probably. How am I supposed to know? _You’re_ the closest thing we have to a physician, besides our cleric. On that note, he’ll probably just throw back some medicine when he gets back to the apothecary and be right as rain.”

“Maybe…”

“Darling, you worry too much about him.”

“He’s my friend.”

“Yes, but I’m your _husband_.” Astarion thought to correct himself. “ _Soon_ -to-be husband, at any rate.” He set down his glass of wine and took both of Elganon’s hands into his own, scooting closer to his beloved with a fanged smile, touching the tips of their noses together. “Let’s make tonight about _us_.”

Elganon smiled and kissed him tenderly on the lips.

* * *

Along the way back to the tower, the path forward became increasingly difficult for Benny to traverse. Initially, he thought it was just getting darker outside, but really it was his vision that was fading. He was stumbling forward, swaggering side-to-side, and broke out into a fit of coughing and wheezing. It was hard to breathe. He’d never felt so sick in his life; he was normally the type of person who never noticed he’d come down with something until it was almost completely over with because other people started getting ill around him.

After one particularly bad cough, he peered into his palm. In the faint light that illuminated the cobblestone roads, he could barely see the blood that stained his hand, but it was there. He must have made his throat raw from all the coughing, but it didn’t _feel_ like he had. Then again, he couldn’t really feel much of his own body at all anymore.

He was more determined now to get back to the tower as quickly as he could. There was no doubt plenty of things there that he could try taking to cure what ailed him. He shouldn’t have drunk so much; it was stupid on his part.

Tripping over a gap in the road where a stone had come loose, he collided with the ground painfully, half-stunned by the fall. He groaned, rolling onto his back slowly. He felt like he was dying.

Then, it occurred to him. He _was_ dying. This was the effect of a poison traveling through his system. He’d seen something like this before a handful of times in his life.

Gods… Who poisoned him? And why would they do it? What had he done to—

No… It couldn’t have been…

A shadow was cast over him, and he realized there was a man standing there. He assumed at first that it was Elganon because he looked so similar, but Elganon obviously didn’t have a beard.

“Are you hurt? Do you need assistance?” asked the stranger, crouching down next to him. “You look unwell, and I don’t imagine someone would come and lay in the middle of the road simply to watch the stars…”

“You’d be surprised,” Benny replied with a laugh, trying to make light of the grim situation he was trapped in. He coughed again, flecking his lips and tusks with his own blood. “Sorry,” he said to the stranger, hoping he didn’t get any on the man’s nice clothing.

“Here, let me help you,” said the man, reaching down to place his hands on Benny’s arms, but his offer for help was rejected.

“Too late for that, mate,” Benny said, shaking his head. “Don’t think I got more than a few minutes tops. I seen this sorta thing before. Poisoned, I wuz. Thanks, anyway.”

“Poisoned?”

“Seems like.”

“Not a pleasant way to die, I should think…”

Benny groaned and squirmed, stricken with a surge of pain in his gut. “Nope, not really.”

“I believe I can still save you,” the stranger insisted.

“How so?”

“It won’t be pleasant.”

Benny glowered at the man hovering over him, resenting the fact that he was so adamant about beating around the bush while he was laying here dying.

“Close your eyes and turn your head the other way,” instructed the stranger, motioning in a vague direction.

The half-orc’s expression shifted to skepticism. “You’re not gonna stick your cock in me mouth in my final moments, are ya?” he asked indignantly, expecting his end to really be that embarrassing. He wasn’t much luckier in life than Elganon was, to be fair.

The stranger narrowed his eyes. “Don’t be so crass. Do you want to survive, or don’t you? This isn’t something I normally do for just _anyone_.”

“Alright, alright.” Benny sighed and did as he was told, though he couldn't imagine what the man had in mind, exactly. There was a sharp icy pain that pierced his neck shortly after, and it sent him into a panic. “The fuck?!” He tried his best to force the stranger off of him, but somehow the slender man was overpowering him, sinking his teeth deeper into the half-orc’s neck. “Get off me, ya bastard!”

Benny flailed and kicked and hit, but the life was draining from him even faster than what the poison was doing to his body alone. Each attempt to reach for his swords was denied, and eventually, his body lay limp against the cobblestone. 

_What a way to die_ , was his final thought. _Fucking Hells…_

Nobody saw Benny again after that night. Elganon was shattered when he realized the next morning that his friend had disappeared. After Astarion made the suggestion that Benny seemed more bothered than he let on about their engagement, Elganon wept terribly about the whole matter. He had no idea, and he blamed himself for breaking his friend’s heart so much that it made him want to leave.

If only he knew.

* * *

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Well, you're my friend, and can you see? Many times we've been out drinking, many times we've shared our thoughts, but did you ever, ever notice the kind of thoughts I got?"
> 
> Recommended Listening: I See a Darkness by Bonnie "Prince" Billy


	21. Conflicted Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back when the party was trying to make their way "home" to Baldur's Gate, Benny tried to get everyone to be a little more cordial to one another, but things didn't go as he'd intended.

Benny was an uncomplicated man, and honestly, he wished the rest of the world could keep things just as simple. People often made life harder than it needed to be, and never in his career as a mercenary had he seen a group with as much animosity as Elganon’s crew had. Hells, even his fellow inmates in prison weren’t so standoffish, and some of them had tried to shank him. On multiple occasions.

It wasn’t entirely surprising that with Elganon at the helm (serving as more of a travel guide than anything else), not much was being done to bring everyone together, since the half-elf himself tended towards extreme reclusiveness when there weren’t people dragging him into social situations. Elganon latched onto Benny when they were young, and when Benny wasn’t around anymore, he stopped socializing as often. No wonder Kahira kept mostly to herself these days. It was likely she tried, in her own strange ways, to prod their childhood friend into spending more time with others, but it took a certain kind of push to get Elganon to step out of his comfort zone for a few moments. The same could probably be said for the rest of the folks in this sorry lot.

They weren’t far from getting back to Baldur’s Gate after having gone on the expedition to the abandoned research facility, and everyone was hanging around outside of their tents at the campsite they set up for the afternoon. However, despite only being a few feet away from one another, the group was behaving as if they were on remote islands.

Gale read from one of the books they found, Shadowheart toyed with…some odd puzzle-contraption she was trying to keep out of view, Thomas tried to observe what she was doing from the stump he was positioned on (as a reanimated skull, he was stuck wherever people placed him), Lae’zel sharpened her sword, Wyll sipped on rum, Kahira searched the site for things to re-stuff her potato sack with, and Charming coiled around the branch of a tree and peered down at everyone thoughtfully, flicking his forked tongue every now and again.

But no one thought to simply _talk_ to each other.

“Right,” Benny said abruptly, drawing their attention. “Gather ‘round, everybody. Near the campfire.” He waved his arms towards himself as he hobbled over to the fire at the center of camp, and carefully sat down in front of it.

“Why? What’s the matter?” asked Shadowheart, unsure of what was going on. “Are we holding some sort of meeting?”

“No,” Benny said as the group drew near to sit with him. Gale picked up Thomas to take him along when the skull grumbled an ‘ahem’ at him as he passed by. “It’s just… There’s no sense in us all pretendin’ like we ain’t ‘ere together. I know you lot don’t all like each other much, but that’s not important, really.”

Wyll glanced around the camp. Now that everyone who should have been there was in one spot, he noticed that not everyone was present. “Where’s Elganon and Astarion?” He flinched when Charming decided to use him as his new perch, having discreetly slithered down the tree and up onto the human.

“They ssslunk off hours ago,” said the white snake, making himself comfy around Wyll’s shoulders. The warlock was more comfortable to lay on than Astarion was, being warm-bodied. “They’ll be back. Eventually.”

“ _Of course_ ,” said Wyll, entirely unsurprised. “They left us to do all the hard work of setting up camp, while they—” He saw no point in fuming over it now; it was too late to do anything about it. “I can’t really blame them, but still, what a selfish thing to do.”

Branches snapped at a short distance away, and foliage was pushed aside to make a clearance. Astarion and Elganon had both returned to the camp, carrying their bags with them.

“W-We were doing _work_!” Elganon whined, overhearing what Wyll said. “We were _foraging_ ,” he explained, opening his pack to show that it was full of an assortment of wild grown foods.

Benny grinned over his shoulder at Elganon and asked, “Oh, yeah? Find a big juicy mushroom in Astarion’s pants ‘e’s got on inside out over there?” He gestured at the vampire’s trousers, getting both men to look.

“Fuck,” Astarion muttered. The seams of his pants were indeed showing on the outside, and to make matters worse, they were on backwards, too. This was the last time he’d let Elganon help him get dressed. How did he screw it up this badly?

“We _did_ take a qu-quick bath, as well,” said Elganon, red-faced and holding his bag to his chest. “After foraging.” It wasn’t necessarily a lie, there was just one part he excluded.

With as much giggling that proceeded the cover story, Astarion knew they might as well confess to the real purpose of their outing. “Alright, fine, we had sex. Happy?”

“Nice,” Benny uttered. Astarion raised an eyebrow at him. “Er, I mean… Anyways, we were just about to all hang out ‘round the campfire. Want to join us?”

“Sure,” Astarion replied hesitantly, leading Elganon by the hand as they took a seat in the empty patch of grass beside the half-orc.

“Astarion, go ahead and pass some of what we’ve brought to the others,” Elganon said, digging around in his own pack to do exactly that himself.

“Right.” The first thing Astarion brought out by mistake was a dead bird. “A-Ahah! That was mine. Sorry—”

He was about to toss it away until Charming said, “Don’t jussst throw it out. I want it.” The snake slithered over to the vampire, and Wyll was visibly relieved to no longer be the chosen lounging place of the familiar.

Astarion grimaced at his serpentine companion, but he allowed him to swallow the bird whole from his hand. The elf then attempted to hand out an apple to anyone who might take it, but after everyone saw the dead bird, there were no takers. Until Kahira spoke up.

“Gimmie!” she said, waving her stubby arms to catch it. Instead, the apple hit her on the chin. “Hey!”

“Sorry,” replied Astarion, smirking. “I was aiming for your nose. Would you like another?”

“Do you want one of my rocks?” she asked.

“Elganon, the gnoblin is being mean to me again.” Astarion made puppy eyes at his partner, hoping to garner his pity, but Elganon had a knack for knowing when people were truly emotionally hurt or not. The half-elf gave him the same disappointed look the vampire might give to a dry slab of meat.

“Is that _really_ what we’re calling her now?” asked Shadowheart. “A ‘gnoblin’? Can’t we just go by the usual standards and refer to her as a half-gnome?”

“That would be giving her too much credit,” said Astarion. “I still stand by the fact that I’ve never seen a half-gnome, nor a half-goblin, and I _refuse_ to believe that two creatures so repulsive might get together and—”

“ _Astarion_.” Now he’d made Elganon twice as frustrated. “We've _talked_ about you making comments like that.”

“It was a slip, my love. It’ll won’t happen again,” the elf lied, holding his bag in his lap with one arm while dragging Elganon closer with the other wrapped around his waist.

Thomas’ teeth chattered in amusement. “You’d better put a ‘within the span of the next day or so’ after that promise.”

Astarion pouted at the sassy skull. “I’m _working_ on it, alright? Isn’t that enough? Besides, _you’re_ one to talk.”

“Oh, it’s _just_ like an elf to point the finger everyone else when their own shortcomings—”

Elganon gasped at Thomas. “ _Uncle!_ ”

An argumentative back-and-forth was sparked between Astarion and Thomas, and eventually Lae’zel sighed over it all and asked the rest of the group, “Would anyone besides the lugubrious coward,” she pointed at Elganon with her thumb, “be all too dismayed if I killed them?”

“There’s no need for that, Lae’zel,” Benny assured her, then he said to the bickering pair, “Alright, lads, pack it in. That’s enough. We’re ‘ere to make merry, not overdramatic scenes.”

Reluctantly, Astarion and Thomas both calmed down, after a while. They each tried to mumble the final word in the dispute, but when it became apparent that one would have to give in before they got into trouble with the others in their group, Thomas decided to let the vampire have the satisfaction of delivering the last insult. In a way, the skull won in the end. 

Elganon pinched Astarion’s earlobe and whispered into the elf’s ear, “I know that Thomas isn’t perfect, but give him a break. He’s only a skull. How carefree would you be in his situation?”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry.” Astarion tugged Elganon’s fingers off his ear, then sulked at him. “Pinch me again, and I’ll bite at your ears.”

“N-Not if I bite yours first,” Elganon threatened meekly, trying to sound intimidating in the slightest. Charming gave him a scare when he crawled up his back and pretended to snap at his ear. “Ack! Don’t!”

Elganon fell backwards, and half of what was in his bag spilled out around him, igniting laughter again around the campfire. Charming was the only one unamused by the situation, besides Elganon.

“You’re sssquissshing me,” the snake hissed in pain. Astarion helped Elganon sit upright again. “Thank you.” Charming clumsily slithered up to the elf’s shoulders, deciding it would be safest there.

Gale picked up a berry that rolled his way, cleaned it off on his robe, and popped it into his mouth. “So, should we all play a game or something? What about Truth-or-Dare? Everyone here has played that before, right?”

Lae’zel failed to hide her embarrassment. “We’re all a little old for games, aren’t we? I’d rather not.”

“I’d like to give it a go,” said Wyll.

“Indeed. Why not?” Shadowheart concurred.

“I do love games,” Thomas said cheerfully.

Kahira stopped gnawing on her apple long enough to exclaim, “Ayeeee!”

“I hate Truth-or-Dare,” Elganon mumbled, but it was so quietly spoken that it couldn’t be heard over Astarion speaking over him.

“I prefer Spin-the-Bottle myself, but considering the current company, Truth-or-Dare it is,” said the elf.

Benny chuckled. “Sorry, Lae’zel. You don’t have to play if you don’t want to. But you can still stay and watch, or you could join in late.” He shrugged. “Doubt anyone would mind.”

“I’m not going to be the only one who backs down,” she said stubbornly, drawing her legs up towards her chest. “I’ll join.”

“Not too high and mighty to be a little childish with us, after all?” asked Shadowheart.

“Silence, priestess” the githyanki snapped. “Let’s just get on with this.”

“I wanna go first!” Kahira announced, standing to bounce on her toes.

“I haven’t even explained the rules yet!” said Gale, grinning.

“They’ll be obvious when we start playin’. And besides, rules are stupid and no fun for games, anyway,” Kahira argued, proceeding with or without permission to do so. “Alright, so… Gale, I’m gonna ask you for a truth: Is there anybody here you have a crush on?”

Gale stammered. “U-Uh, well, I—"

“I swear,” Elganon spoke up. “You ask that question every time to people, Kahira. No wonder you don’t want there to be any rules: That would be the first question to get banned. You don’t have to answer that, Gale.”

“Yes, he does!” said Kahira. “That’s the whole point of the game!”

“It’s quite alright, Gale,” said Thomas coyly. “It’s me, isn’t it? I can’t say I blame you. I was quite the looker, back when I had a body.”

Elganon put his face in his hands. “Thomas, please…”

Astarion burst into laughter. “I bet you’re really glad you proposed this fine idea, Gale!”

“I’m still very confused as to how this game works,” muttered Lae’zel. “Gale doesn’t appear to be crushing anyone to me, unless this is some sort of metaphor…”

“Alright, alright. Let him answer,” said Wyll. “Go on, Gale.”

The wizard scratched at his beard with a fingernail, sighing. “Crush is a heavy word…” He glanced between the various faces at the camp.

“Well, yes, crushing involves a lot of pressure, generally,” said Lae’zel.

“That’s not what I meant, but—” Too many people were staring at Gale, and it was making him uncomfortable. “Honestly, I wouldn’t say I have a ‘crush’ on anyone here, per se. You’re all quite handsome and all, in your own ways, but ‘crush’ is a commitment I’m not yet willing to make. Went through a bad breakup recently, you see.”

Kahira’s excitement wilted at the disappointing answer, but at least she got one at all. “Aw… Fair enough.” She sat back down and clutched her stuffed potato sack, jamming what was left of her apple core inside of it, along with some of the other bits of food that had rolled all the way to her end of the campfire somehow. She was probably saving them as a snack for later.

Astarion murmured to the snake around his shoulders. “What’s with her?” he asked, aware that Kahira and Charming spent a good bit of time together on occasion. He never thought to ask what they got up to. Perhaps they went on tiny adventures, being tiny creatures and all.

“Ssshe’s rather fond of Gale,” Charming hissed into his ear.

Astarion smirked. “Is that why she’s been giving him all sorts of useless baubles?”

“Not all of them have been ussselessss,” said the serpent. “Sssome of them are magical. I’m only interesssted in keeping the wizard from exploding and taking out half of the Sssword Coassst. _Ssshe_ wantsss to appeassse him by feeding him jussst asss… _that one_ ,” Charming’s eyes darted in Elganon’s direction, “feedsss you.”

“So, that’s what you two have been getting up to,” the elf muttered. “You never bring _me_ back anything.”

“You never asssked, sssmoothbrain.”

Gale set his fists on his waist. “Alright, I suppose I should have a turn. Let’s see…” He looked at the skull sitting next to him. “Thomas—”

“Are you going to dare me to kiss you?” asked the skull excitably.

Gale pinched the bridge of his nose. “…That was the _last_ thing I was going to do, actually. I was going to ask for a truth.”

“Oh.” If Thomas were capable of frowning, he probably would have been. “Well, go on, I suppose.”

“What’s the story behind you becoming a Red Wizard, anyway?” asked Gale. “You’re not exactly what most people would imagine when thinking of one. Not that it’s a _bad_ thing. In fact, if you were like most Red Wizards, I don’t think we’d even be talking right now.”

Thomas rattled out a sigh. “Well, you’re right about that. I never fit in well with my colleagues, except for Tabalecus. We were ‘partners-in-crime’ practically since the day we met, really. He was the only person who had my back and wasn’t about to put a dagger into it. To make a long story short of it, my ascension to the status of Red Wizard wasn’t easy. Doubly so, since while my mother was of Mulan descent and already part of the nobility, my father was a Rashemi servant of her household—and before you ask, they loved each other very much. People _act_ like that’s not common in _Thay_ , of all places, but it is. It was never thought that I could become a wizard of any merit, let alone a Red Wizard, but I proved them all wrong, in the end.” He paused. “Sorry, that became more of a rant than anything else. It’s not often that I get the opportunity to complain at new people, but I thank you for humoring me. You just so happened to bring up my favorite topic: Myself!”

Gale winced a little; he hadn’t expected such an earnest answer, and on top of that, now he could see why Elganon had seemed so offended when he’d cracked a joke that went something along the lines of: ‘You’re staring at me like a Rashemi at a blackboard.’

“Not to worry. I'm a bit of a ranter myself," said Gale with a smile. "Yet, you ultimately left Thay. Why is that?” He forgot all about the game for a moment.

“Ah, but you’ve already asked your one truth!” Thomas pointed out. “We can continue this conversation later if you’d like. But for now, it’s _my_ turn.” He didn’t waste any time getting to it. “Shadowheart, I dare you to let me have a look at that strange puzzle box of yours. I saw you struggling with it earlier, and I believe that I could solve it.”

“No,” the cleric replied bluntly.

Thomas groaned. “Oh, come now. I can’t be the only one here who actually puts forth a good effort to participate in this game.”

Shadowheart thought twice about the request, then with a slight smirk, got out the puzzle box and chucked it right next to the skull. “There you are. Solve away.”

“…Well, I’m going to need your hands to—”

“You said you could solve it. Go on, then. Amaze me, Red Wizard.”

“But I—”

“Can’t you summon a Mage Hand?” asked Lae’zel curiously.

Thomas’ voice became more distressed. “I gave up Conjuration and Evocation to specialize in Necromancy…”

Gale blinked. “You gave up two of the most useful schools, out of all of them?”

“Excuse _me_ for not foreseeing a day in which I wouldn’t have _hands_!” cried the skull.

“Couldn’t you attach yourself to the body of a corpse or something?” Astarion suggested, getting half the party to stare at him for such morbid advice.

“Don’t you think I’ve tried that?” Thomas responded. “Believe it or not, but bodies tend to remember their owners, and most aren’t too pleased to have somebody else’s skull telling it what to do.”

“Necromancy is a strange art,” Wyll muttered, clearly unsettled.

“Tell me about it,” said the skull dejectedly. “It’s not all that it’s cracked up to be. I should have become an Abjurer. I was always better at that, anyway.”

“Is the _skull_ going to cry now?” Lae’zel sighed.

“I already am, you just can’t tell…” 

Try as he might, Thomas only had the will to tilt himself over to lean against the puzzle box. He’d probably never solve it like that, but he could wish and hope. Actually, he couldn’t Wish. That was part of the Conjuration school of magic, which he’d sacrificed upon achieving the mantle of Red Wizard. But he could hope, at least. That was technically in the field of Abjuration.

“Aw, Thomas,” Elganon said sadly. “It’s going to be alright. Do you want me to help you?”

Thomas attempted to nod. Kahira brought the skull and the puzzle box over to Elganon, and the half-elven warlock closed his bag and set it aside to make room for Thomas to sit in his lap while he followed his uncle’s direction in twisting the puzzle box this way and that way.

“You could try breaking it open,” Benny mumbled to Elganon, but the warlock shook his head no and continued to struggle with turning the pieces.

“May I reserve my turn for later?” Shadowheart asked Gale. “I’d prefer to go last.”

“Certainly,” said Gale. “Who would like to go next, then?”

“I can." Wyll raised a hand as if he were in a classroom. He then asked Kahira very sincerely, “Are you secretly some kind of fey creature?”

The deep gnome laughed. “A fey creature?” she repeated. “Yes! I’m secretly a hag! Can’t you tell?” She got a little more serious. “What gave you the idea that I was one of the fey?”

“I’ve never actually _seen_ Elganon’s patron, and I wondered if you might be it,” Wyll explained. “I know he’s said that it was a demon, but once you came along, I started suspecting it was you. You seem more fey than demon to me.” Astarion scoffed at that, apparently disagreeing.

Elganon looked up from the puzzle box in his hands. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“You haven’t always been entirely honest,” Wyll admitted to him. “Although, we’ve _all_ been secretive towards each other here. There’s no hard feelings, at least not on my end.” He put his attention back on Kahira. “So, are you?”

“I wish,” said Kahira. “Then I could make him do whatever I want!”

“You’re not making me do anything,” said Elganon fussily.

Kahira raised her hands to wiggle her fingers ominously. She made a few sparks appear from her fingertips, but they were entirely for show. “Quiet, minion, lest I take my boon away from you!”

Still sore about the isolation from his actual patron, Elganon grumbled, “That’s not funny.”

Astarion patted him on the shoulder. “It’s a _little_ funny, dear.”

“Won’t you both stop picking on me and let me solve this puzzle box?” the half-elf pleaded, going back to what he was doing.

“You tell them, nephew—er, Elg,” said Thomas. “Stick up for yourself for a change!”

Gale cleared his throat. “Since Kahira’s already had a turn, who—”

“Wyll,” said Lae’zel firmly. “I dare you to pummel Elganon, and you will do it if you wish to earn my favor.”

The human warlock was taken aback. “What?!”

Being unable to keep twisting at the puzzle box any further, anyway, since his palms were beginning to blister, Elganon set the object next to his pack for now. “La-Lae’zel, _why_ are you always so mean to me? I’ve not done anything to you!” he whined.

“You dishonor me daily by calling yourself my leader,” she said.

“I’ve not called myself the leader once. I didn’t ask for this—”

“ _And_ you refuse to accept responsibility.”

“But—”

“Alright, Lae’zel,” Benny cut in. Even though he wanted to be respectfully quiet to avoid disrupting the game, some situations needed moderation, he reckoned. “You can’t use your turn to ask folks to beat each other up. C’mon, play nice. It’s a game.”

“It’s what I want,” the githyanki insisted.

“I know, Lae’zel, I know. But ya can’t.”

“I thought the gnome-goblin said there were no rules to this game.”

“Now there’s _one_ rule.”

Lae’zel hissed slightly and crossed her arms over her armored chest. “This game is stupid.”

“Not even a _little_ maiming?” Astarion asked Benny.

Elganon glared at his lover. “ _Astarion_!”

“I’m kidding!”

When the vampire threw his hands up defensively, he accidentally smacked Charming in the head, disturbing the serpent’s nap. He didn’t notice the snake baring its fangs at him, since Charming chose to silently forgive this unintended transgression and lower his head again.

“Anyway,” said Astarion, laying his hands on his thighs. “I’m taking _my_ turn. You’re all boring me towards a second death. Everyone here is terrible at this game.”

“I’ve been having fun,” murmured Wyll.

Astarion shifted his attention to the half-orc beside him. “Benny, what’s the strangest thought you’ve ever come to?”

“For someone who’s undead, I’m surprised that’s all you ever think about, besides blood,” Shadowheart griped. “I thought your kind were supposed to be lifeless down there. It’s a pity that you aren’t.”

“There’s no rule against which questions I can and can’t ask,” said the vampire, holding up a hand for her to be silent.

“Astarion,” Elganon began to say, but the hand the elf was holding up was suddenly pressed against his face, keeping him from saying anything else. “Mph!” He swatted pathetically in his partner’s direction, but he couldn’t see a thing. Thomas sighed disappointedly.

“Gods damn it,” said Benny. “You’re just tryin’ to embarrass me in front of everyone, aren’t you?”

“Answer the question,” Astarion demanded.

The half-orc ran his fingers through his hair, being mindful not to get them tangled in his small braids. “I really dunno, honestly.”

“Oh, just pick _something_.”

“I’m bein’ serious! I can’t think of anything that stands out as strange! I’d have to get back to you on that.”

“You _have_ to answer.”

Elganon finally managed to pry the vampire’s fingers from his face. “Astarion, leave him alone. He _did_ answer.”

Astarion groaned irritably. “If people keep ducking out of giving a _real_ answer, the game is no fun.”

“Astarion, go fuck yourself,” grumbled Benny.

The elf grinned. “Was that a _dare_?”

“No. I’m not wasting my turn on that. Or you, for that matter,” said the mercenary, unwilling to give him the pleasure. “Charming, why would you choose to be this bellend’s familiar, when you could have chosen anyone else? You get on well with Gale and help him all the time. Why not Gale? Or Kahira? Or literally anyone else?”

“If he keepsss batting me around, I very well _may_ go elsssewhere, where I’m more appreccciated,” hissed the snake, rubbing between his tiny nostrils with his tail. His face was sore after being smacked.

Astarion frowned. “Listen—"

“Charming,” said Elganon. “Would you mind if I took my turn before you did? Please?”

“Yes, I would mind—”

“Astarion,” Elganon continued, having only paid attention to the first word that the serpent said. “I dare you to kiss Benny on the cheek.”

“Are you serious?!” the vampire snapped, appalled by the idea. Benny didn’t look too keen on it, either.

“I hate seeing you two bicker all the time. It’s ridiculous. Kiss and make up.”

Everyone was watching now to see if they’d do it. Astarion grimaced at the half-orc, and Benny mirrored his disgust.

“You _did_ complain about people backing out when they got called upon,” Shadowheart reminded Astarion. “You aren’t going to do it yourself over such a small task, are you?”

She was right, and Astarion resented that. He removed his bag from his lap to lean upward towards the half-orc, expecting the other man to cower away first and spare him from having to commit to the deed, but to his dismay, Benny sat completely still while looking in the other direction with his cheek turned towards the vampire.

“You’d better not bite me,” he warned as Astarion came nearer.

“As if I would,” Astarion retorted, stalling for as long as he reasonably could. “You probably taste _horrible_.”

Their faces were hovering inches apart. Benny didn’t smell as bad as Astarion imagined he would. In fact, he had a pleasant musk. The vampire hated himself for thinking that.

_Just do it and be done with it_ , Astarion told himself.

His lips touched Benny’s cheek, and the moment they did so, Astarion backed off a little. He was making this harder than it had to be.

“That wasn’t a kiss,” Lae’zel said, expecting more.

“Shut up,” Astarion snapped. “I’m doing it, alright? Give me a second.”

He repeated the process, but it unfolded the same way.

“Stop making this weird, Astarion,” Benny complained, making Elganon and several others in their party giggle. “Or else it’ll make me think you’re enjoying it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself—I’m not in the slightest.”

“Good.”

“Be quiet. I can’t concentrate.”

“Why do you need to concentrate?” asked Gale. “You’re not weaving a spell…”

Astarion growled. “Will everyone just _shut up_?” He lunged at Benny, planting a quick peck on his cheek, then sat back down. “There. I’ve done it. And I’m _never_ doing that again. Ever.” Charming hissed in laughter.

“I still say that wasn’t a kiss,” said Lae’zel.

“Look, if you want to tongue the half-orc yourself, be my guest!” said Astarion.

Lae’zel began to stand, but Benny waved his arms at her. “No, no. I’m good, but thanks.”

Astarion glowered at Elganon. “Happy?”

Elganon nodded and kissed the elf on the cheek, shimmying to sit closer to him. That alone made the dare _almost_ worth it to Astarion, but he would expect more later.

“Can I ussse my turn now?” asked Charming. “I think I ssshall.” He leered at Elganon mischievously. “Elganon, I dare you to ssshove a berry up your nossse.”

“Honestly?” asked Elganon incredulously. “No! Are we children? That would be a waste of perfectly good food, and I’m not doing that.”

Lae’zel sat back down, frustrated that Benny still wasn’t caving to her forward attempts to woo him. “Is anyone surprised that the biggest coward would shy from a dare?” she asked about Elganon’s reaction.

“I’m not doing it,” insisted the half-elf.

“Oh, come now, love.” Astarion tipped Thomas out of Elganon’s lap, causing the skull to tumble away in the grass while cursing the elf. The vampire then proceeded to wrap his arms around his lover’s torso. “Don’t spoil the game now. Especially after you made me kiss Benny.” He grinned. “Besides, you have no issue with inserting food items in _other_ places.”

“ _Gods_ ,” Benny mumbled, grasping his forehead. He almost entirely forgot about the dirty story about Elganon that Astarion had bragged to him about while the vampire was in a drunken stupor.

“Astarion!” Elganon gasped.

Gale suddenly seemed ill. “I’m starting to regret eating some of that food you brought back…”

“I didn’t do anything to the food I picked!” Elganon exclaimed.

Wyll opened his mouth to speak. “But you and Astarion—"

“Yes, but we didn’t—”

Then, Astarion interrupted. “Oh, not to worry. We already had something to—”

Elganon covered his lover’s mouth in the same way that was done to him earlier. Astarion could have easily bitten him to get him to let go, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was rather annoyed, though, and fought back by getting one of the berries out from his pack, bringing it towards Elganon’s nostril.

“Stop it, Astarion! Don’t you dare!” Elganon warned. He didn’t want to resort to using spells, but he channeled necromantic magic into the vampire, compelling his cold body to freeze in place.

Charming then stared Elganon down, using a spell of his own to convince the half-elf to take the berry from Astarion’s fingers and stuff it up his own nose, anyway. The enchantment quickly faded afterwards, and the warlock made a defeated expression.

Elganon sort of came to terms with the fact that he looked like an idiot now. That wasn’t abnormal for him, so that wasn’t hard to do. At least he made his friends—he hoped they were his friends—laugh. 

“That was wrong,” he mumbled. He wasn’t sure how to get the berry out without making things worse.

“I’m glad I saved my turn for last,” Shadowheart said triumphantly when she calmed down from her laughter. “Lae’zel, I dare you to eat the berry from Elganon’s nose. And, you have to dig it out with your tongue.”

It turned out that Elganon didn’t have to do anything to make it worse. Shadowheart was kind enough to do that for him. What would he do without his new friends?

“Absolutely not!” Lae’zel roared, offended by the command.

“And why not? You wanted to make use of your tongue earlier,” the cleric said innocently. “You’re not a _coward_ , are you? Is Lae’zel, the great githyanki warrior, more of a coward than Elganon? How depressing that would be.”

Kahira began to chant. “Do it. Do it. Do it! Do it!” As she clapped her hands, the others joined in on the chant, except for Thomas and Benny. Astarion, now capable of moving again, clapped his hands along with Kahira, staring Elganon down with a smirk.

“This is going a bit far, isn’t it?” asked the skull, who was now turned upside down on the grass.

Benny rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not sure this is right, but that berry probably _should_ come out one way or another…”

“Benny!” Elganon scrambled backwards as Lae’zel got up to walk around the campfire towards him.

“If anyone mentions this again, they can expect to meet the end of my blade,” Lae’zel cautioned the group as she continued striding towards the fleeing half-elf who couldn’t seem to lift himself off the ground to run away.

The worst part for Elganon wasn’t even when Lae’zel tackled him and began wriggling her tongue up his nostril. It was when Astarion held him down while she did it, giggling the whole time.

“Gross,” Wyll said, having to take the last swig of his rum after what he witnessed. He was already drunk enough, but he felt he needed to be drunker. “I can’t believe you actually did that.”

“Neither can I,” Gale agreed.

“Well,” Benny shrugged, “at least the berry’s out.”

“Perhaps we should conclude the game,” Thomas advised. “Not much is going to top that, short of anything particularly depraved.”

Gale pointed at Lae’zel and Elganon. “More depraved than that?”

Lae’zel crawled off Elganon, leaving the poor half-elf to blubber on the ground. She was still chewing the berry between her teeth.

“You’ve hung out with us long enough to know by now that it can get more depraved than that,” said Kahira, cackling.

“Point taken…”

* * *

* * *

Things certainly hadn’t played out in the way that Benny had expected them to, but he was pleased enough that it got everyone to spend more time with each other. Though, he wasn’t sure if it made things less weird between them all, especially after what happened in their game of Truth-or-Dare. Next time, _he’d_ pick the activity, and would be more wary than Gale was about what he suggested.

For now, the mercenary would rest up in his tent for the night. It was Thomas’ turn to keep watch tonight. Benny attempted to dissuade the talking skull from the task without mentioning the obvious, such as his doubts that Thomas could put up much of a fight if danger did come lurking. But Thomas had insisted that, in the worst-case scenario, he’d call for help to wake everyone up. As bad of an idea as that was, Benny really needed to catch up on sleep.

The only problem was that he _couldn’t_ sleep. Too much was on his mind. Things he wasn’t proud of, but there they were. He had a lot of other needs that hadn’t been tended to for a long time, but he hadn’t taken up any offers to assist him with one of them. He stopped by the brothel a lot to check in on things, say hello to Mum, catch up on lost time with the employees he knew, and acquaint himself with the ones he was unfamiliar with. However, he never went upstairs unless it was to clear out an unwanted guest, and that was very unusual for him.

Perhaps prison affected him more than he wanted to believe that it did. He told himself that he was going to put it all behind him as soon as he was released and never let it cross his mind again, but that was easier said than done. Maybe he was still adjusting to being back among the people he remembered after years had passed. A lot had stayed the same, but a lot had changed, too. Kahira was mostly the same, but Elganon had changed a lot. His feelings towards Elganon changed a lot, too. Only, he couldn’t describe _how_.

Elganon’s choice in a lover, for one, came as a surprise. Astarion _really_ threw him for a loop. He was a nobleman, and that was already worrying, but to make things more uncomfortable, he was a monster, too. Not figuratively, like most nobles he’d met were, but literally. An actual bloody monster.

After years of being around Elganon’s family, Benny was used to seeing monsters, but he’d never been face-to-face with a vampire before. They were a bit different than your usual talking corpses. So many horrific things were said about what they did or could do. Most corpses just shambled around slowly and aimlessly, and they occasionally tried to eat your brains, but you would basically have to let them do it if you were as big and strong as Benny was. Then, you had Thomas, whose bark was worse than his bite. But vampires… They were scary. Benny didn’t even think they actually existed until recently.

It was frightening to think that, at any moment, Elganon could be asleep in his tent and get his throat ripped out by the bastard. There was meant to be something wrong with a vampire’s soul, after all. They weren’t entirely in control of their own behavior, supposedly. The stories went that their nature often compelled them to behave very bizarrely, in ways that they might not have in life. Astarion was definitely bizarre, to say the least.

But he wasn’t all that bad sometimes. That was the most conflicting part. Sometimes Astarion was sort of alright. He was pretty handsome, too. In fact, he and Elganon made for a very handsome couple. It took effort not to stare when they kissed or held hands or did anything else that was remotely intimate, but Benny didn’t want to be rude.

Gods, they were really hot though, weren’t they? His manhood certainly agreed.

“Gods damn it,” Benny mumbled, attempting to ignore the stiffness between his legs. He rolled over onto one side, hoping it would go away on its own, but it didn’t. He’d never get to sleep now unless he tended to it.

It was just him in here. Alone, in his tent. Nobody would know if he had a cheeky wank while everyone else was asleep. Furthermore, why should he feel guilty in fantasizing about whatever he liked to get the job done? It was totally harmless. He’d indulge in the thought once, and that was it. Surely, it wasn’t weird to think about a close friend when masturbating, right? Everyone must have done it at least once.

He checked to make sure the flap of his tent was completely closed before reluctantly tugging down the front of his trousers. He was already feeling regretful regarding what he was about to do.

* * *

As Benny’s mind drifted away, he pictured that Elganon and Astarion were kneeling on a large, soft bed covered with satin sheets, naked, with their arms wrapped around each other’s necks as they kissed, using their tongues. Astarion threw Elganon down on the bed, climbing onto him and rubbing their hard cocks together. It was mildly jealousy-inducing to see how the elf rendered Elganon speechless, aside from eager whines for more, and how the half-elf wanted so badly to be taken by the man riding him.

“You like that, don’t you?” Astarion purred, but he wasn’t talking only to Elganon. He turned his head in Benny’s direction, causing the half-orc to realize that he was present in the scene, rather than just an observer. “Pervert. Why don’t you join us?”

Benny pointed at himself. “Me?”

Astarion looked around the luxurious bedroom, then held out his arms in a shrug. “I don’t see anyone else here besides us three. Well?” Elganon lifted his head to give a bashful wave of his fingers.

“But I thought you hated—”

“If I lose my arousal because of your arguing, I’m going to be royally _pissed_.” Astarion pointed downwards at the bed. “Now get over here or leave.”

Not unreasonable terms, Benny figured as he sat on the edge of the bed and worked on removing his clothes before slipping closer to the two elven men.

“Hi, Benny,” Elganon said with a shy giggle as the half-orc drew near.

Without thinking much of it, Benny slid one arm underneath Elganon’s neck, while his other hand cradled Astarion’s lower back. The latter flinched at the touch, but the vampire settled into his hand without making any mention of disliking it. Indeed, both Elganon and Astarion slithered onto Benny, laying on either side of him with their hands stroking up his chest. He kept them close by holding onto their bottoms, each of which he could just about fit in one hand.

Astarion chuckled, seeming overwhelmed by the fact that it would probably take both himself and Elganon to fill out one of the mercenary’s shirts. He probably hadn’t noticed until he found himself pressed against the half-orc’s torso, where their frames could be more easily compared. “Are you sure you’re not part ogre?”

“Dunno,” said Benny. “Never had the chance to ask me mum.”

“He’s big, isn’t he?” Elganon asked the elf in a dreamy voice, gently stroking his thigh against Benny’s groin.

Astarion joined in, and soon the half-orc’s breathing became strained. “Mm, he is indeed, darling.”

“Heh…” Benny squeezed their backsides, tilting his head back against the bed and allowing himself to revel in the unexpected attention. “Y-You two do this sort of thing often, aye? Bringin’ a third to your bed, I mean.”

“Sometimes it’s more than that,” Astarion bragged, grinning. “We’re both insatiable, you know. Especially Elganon, believe it or not. It’s a pity, for you. I’m sure that if you knew—”

“Astarion,” Elganon murmured, gently nudging his partner. Astarion playfully nudged him back, and after a few more of these exchanges, the two became entangled in each other’s arms again, kissing and moaning ardently while continuing to rock against Benny’s growing girth. 

The vampire broke the kiss, saying to Elganon gleefully as he touched their noses together, “I think he’s getting jealous, my dear.”

“Then let’s share,” Elganon suggested.

“Mm, I don’t want to.”

“Astarion, don’t be greedy.” The half-elf tried to convince him by reaching down to stroke his long, thin cock with his delicate fingers, brushing against the shaft, then teasing around the retracted foreskin. Astarion bucked into his hand when he grasped the shaft firmly, thumb flicking across the tip of the head.

Elganon leaned into his ear to whisper, “If you want more of that, then you’ll have to be good.” He released his grip on Astarion’s phallus and kissed him on the neck where the scars from the bite that turned him into a vampire spawn were. Benny shivered more than Astarion did at that.

“Very well, my love,” Astarion drawled with half-lidded eyes, brushing Elganon’s hair behind his ear to kiss along his jaw. He then crawled further up Benny’s body, now face-to-face with the half-orc, and said, “Give us a kiss, Benny.”

By the time Astarion slipped his tongue into Benny’s mouth, finding little resistance by going through the gap in his upper lip, Elganon was trying to kiss him at the same time from the other side. Benny’s hands moved to the back of their heads, petting at their soft hair as the three of them kissed in unison. 

Benny wasn’t sure in the beginning that he’d end up being as into this threesome as he suspected he might. He thought he only had an interest in Elganon, but it didn’t seem moral to cut his friend’s lover out of the picture. Yet now, he wasn’t only enjoying this scenario in a carnal sort of way. Something felt delightfully intimate about the whole situation. It felt right. Incredibly weird, but right.

“Fuck us, Benny,” Elganon pleaded.

Those were the last words the mercenary ever expected to hear out of his friend’s mouth. “Er, well, I would, but—”

Somehow aware of what the problem was, Elganon scrambled over to the nightstand to fetch a small bottle. Astarion chased after him on his hands and knees, tackling the half-elf from behind, giggling and nipping at his ears playfully.

Elganon laughed, too, rolling onto his back with the bottle still gripped in one hand. “Astarion, stop it!”

Astarion snatched the bottle, yanked the cork out with his teeth and spat it across the room, then hoisted his lover’s legs up to pour some of the contents of the bottle down the crack of his bum, fervently massaging it into his hole with his middle finger. 

Of all the times Benny had been upstairs with someone at the brothel, he’d never seen something that turned him on this much. He took his own length into his hand, stroking it as he watched the men play together without a care in the world.

When Elganon wriggled free from Astarion, he seized the bottle back, slicking his fingers with the lubricant to insert two of them into the vampire’s backside, holding him still with the opposite hand placed against his muscular abdomen.

“I’m going to need more than that, darling,” cooed the vampire, and he made a surprised face when a third finger was slid inside of him. “Nnh, I meant the lubricant, but keep doing that as well. That’s _delightful_.”

Without removing his fingers, Elganon simply poured more lubricant onto them in between pumps; that got the job done just as well without having to deny Astarion for a moment. The appreciative growling sounds coming from the elf’s throat excited not only Elganon, but Benny, too.

The half-orc tried to crawl towards them on his knees, but it was simply too painful to do it that way. Instead, he had to claw his way over while on his stomach until he was behind Elganon. Then, he could manage to sit up on his knees again while staying stationary without too much trouble, slight searing pain be damned.

Elganon felt the brush of his friend’s length against his backside and peered behind himself. “That can’t be comfortable for you, Benny. Please—”

Holding in his breath and wincing, Benny shook his head. “Elg, I’ve been havin’ sex for a lot longer than you, I’d wager. I’ll be alright. I’ve got it handled.” He held up a thumb to reassure the half-elf in spite of his obvious anguish. “The burnin’ goes away after a minute or two.”

Astarion became envious when Elganon removed his fingers from him and used what was left in the bottle to coat Benny’s erection, discarding the empty vial in favor of using both hands to apply the oil. The elf hurried to join him in the task, desiring to feel included.

Benny couldn’t help but laugh when he had the breath to do so. “You don’t have to fight over it, not that I’m complainin’.” 

With the way they were working his cock, he wasn’t going to last very long. Their hands were so soft against his throbbing erection, yet they squeezed hard as they wrestled over the thick shaft, caressing their fingertips along the veins.

“Alright, that should probably do me good enough,” Benny huffed, nudging them away before wiping sweat rolling down his forehead with the back of his hand. “Get on your bellies if you would.”

When they did so, Benny experimentally dipped a finger inside of their prepared holes, making sure they were as ready as they needed to be. Elganon gasped happily, and shockingly Astarion pushed his hips back to push the finger in deeper, rather than shy away from it. He apparently wasn’t as repulsed by the half-orc as he pretended to be.

“You’re right, Elg, he _is_ greedy.” Benny chuckled, wiping the lubricant off on his thigh when he was through.

Elganon adorably hugged the bed, writhing in the satin sheets contently, simply pleased by his own excitement and the sensation of the smooth bedding as it rubbed against his manhood while he shifted his hips. “That’s okay. Let him go first, then. I want my Astarion to get everything he needs.”

The vampire smiled, kissing his partner on the forehead. “Sweetheart, he’s _your_ friend. You can go first.”

Elganon giggled. “No, you go first.”

“No, _you_ go first.”

Benny had a thought come to mind that he’d considered a few times in the past: Life would be a lot easier with two cocks. But since he only had one, he had to make do. First, he grabbed onto Elganon’s hips to pull them back towards him and plunged into him a few times, rattling the bed with each powerful thrust, then he took his prick out, put his hands around Astarion’s waist to rear him back, and did the same. It wasn’t the approach that either men were expecting.

“Benny!” Elganon moaned when it was his turn, and he gripped the sheets tighter in his fists.

“Oh, _Gods_!” Astarion exclaimed when the half-orc entered him next.

Benny repeated the cycle until he had a good rhythm going. He put in an effort to distribute his administrations evenly, but he kept losing count in the heat of things. The groans of the men underneath him made his mind hazy. His thighs hurt terribly, but it was worth it just for this.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever been stretched this wide before,” Astarion mumbled into the sheets, on the verge of ripping them with his hands as he braced himself for the subsequent time he was penetrated.

“I have,” Elganon purred, leaning into the mercenary’s bucking hips.

Both Benny and Astarion stared at him in disbelief, but it didn’t stop the former from fucking the elven men senseless.

“When?” Astarion asked, gasping when Benny re-entered him suddenly.

Elganon’s smile widened, seeming satisfied with himself. “The top parts on the posts of my bed unscrew, and—”

“You dirty little _slut_.” The vampire grinned devilishly at his lover. “Is there _anything_ in your room that you haven’t shoved up your arse?”

“I haven’t done it with _everything!_ Only the things that are particularly— Ah! Ph-Phallic.”

“Damn, Elg.” Benny picked up the pace again as soon as he felt that he had been slowing down. “How are you still this tight, then?”

Elganon shrugged. “Beats me.”

Astarion grabbed Elganon by the neck to bring his face nearer. “Kiss me, you silly little whore.” 

He crushed their lips together, giving him an aggressive sort of passion while their hands found their way to each other’s manhood. They tugged and teased and cradled and stroked from the balls to the head—whatever they could find through desperate touch alone while they took turns taking Benny’s hard cock until he was the first to reach climax.

The half-orc’s vision blurred, and the sound of Elganon and Astarion’s voices faded away.

Shit. He completely forgot that this was only a daydream.

* * *

Disappointed with himself after the deed was done, Benny sighed, pulled up his pants, and shuffled out of his tent to toss his cum-stained sock into the campfire, hoping that the conjured-up memory would burn away with the evidence of what he’d gotten up to. He was completely embarrassed with himself, and as a result, he couldn’t be all that mad when he noticed Thomas had somehow fallen asleep on the tree stump while on watch. And people said that there was no rest for the angry dead. What a load of rot. At least Benny had no witnesses.

Stuffing his hands into his pockets and kicking up dirt, the mercenary had a walk around camp to check and make sure that everyone was still sleeping soundly. It seemed as if everyone had been, but then he came across Elganon and Astarion’s tent. He could hear Elganon whimpering softly, his voice muffled by Astarion’s groaning and the slap of skin against skin. Benny gulped, unable to ignore the fact that they were obviously fucking in there.

“Astarion, bite my ears!” Elganon begged, gasping. “Oh! Yes! Ngh…!”

“Am I being too rough, darling?” Astarion purred.

“No… Harder! Ah!”

Benny decided he lingered around longer than he should have, and he paced back towards the other end of the camp to take up the night watch in Thomas’ stead.

It never occurred to him before that Elganon was secretly such a horny bastard, considering that the half-elf remained single for as long as Benny knew him. What in Hells, then, must he have gotten up to all those times when he was alone? Did he really do what he imagined? It made sense now why Elganon hardly ever wanted to leave his room!

The next time that Benny got a moment alone to himself, he would have to think long and hard about that for a while. He supposed he wouldn’t have any socks left by the time they got back to Baldur’s Gate. Or dignity.

Hells, his mind was a mess now, but at least nobody else knew he had thoughts like this sometimes. If anyone did, he’d probably drop dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "All the things I’d do - the things I’d do for you, if I only knew that’s what you’re into."
> 
> Recommended Listening: If You're Into It by Flight of the Conchords


	22. Unwitting Pawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Was it all the drink that got to Astarion's head, or was it something else?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Sorry it takes so long for me to post updates for this these days, but I'll get to the end of this story, even if I have to crawl there!)

In all the time that Astarion had been living with Elganon, he kept meaning to rearrange his… _their_ room, but it remained a cluttered mess.

_Where’s my coin purse?_

Astarion combed through the nightstand drawer, then turned over the pile of books and other tat on the desk, until he recalled that he hadn’t emptied the pockets of the clothes he wore the night before. This was why he should’ve gone easier on the drink; he barely recalled a thing. At least the wine was free.

Kneeling over the pile of clothing, he tossed aside Elganon’s clothes to get to his own and fished around in the pockets of his trousers. The pouch he pulled out was one he didn’t recognize as his own.

“What in Hells is this?” he muttered aloud, opening it.

A mysterious fine powder lined the bottom of the bag. Had he mixed some drug taken from the apothecary with his alcohol for an added thrill—

No…

Astarion crumpled the leather pouch inside his hand, gnawing his bottom lip. Last night, before Benny got suddenly ill, he heard Cazador’s voice again.

_You only pretend to tolerate him, don’t you? For your lover’s sake._

Despite Astarion’s efforts, he couldn’t ignore his taunting. He thought he freed himself from Cazador’s whispers and learned to resist them—learned to block them from invading his mind. The goading continued.

_If you’re really so strong now, prove that you’ve the spine to rid yourself of your competition. I’m curious to know if you’re as cowardly as ever._

Astarion kept his cool in front of Elganon and Benny, though his fist tightened upon the table as fear and anger gripped him.

_I don’t need to prove anything to you, Cazador._

His former master laughed at that.

_But you want to know for yourself, don’t you, Astarion? You’re tired of taking the scraps. You want something that’s truly all to yourself. You want to possess this…Elganon, as I have possessed you. Don’t you, darling?_

Tears threatened to prick at Astarion’s eyes, but he forced himself to smile when Elganon smiled at him and placed his hand over his clenched fist, patting it affectionately.

_That’s not true. I’m not like you. You’re a monster. You don’t love anyone but yourself!_

Suddenly, Astarion realized that Elganon’s expression was blank, looking through him. The same could be said for Benny. It was as if their minds were elsewhere. They were charmed. Not only that, but it was Astarion’s doing. It was a spell that he’d been unwittingly muttering under his breath for the past few moments now.

_Then why, my dear boy, are you poisoning Benjamin’s drink?_

Peering down at his opposite hand, Astarion saw the bag clutched in it, spilling fine grains into the half-orc’s beverage, which quickly settled to the bottom. When the bag was nearly empty, he tucked the pouch back into his pocket, and it took a while for his own actions to sink in. He could knock the drink away, now that he was lucid enough to be aware of his deeds, or warn the mercenary not to drink it, since the spell was beginning to fade. But what would be the consequences of that? 

Would Elganon keep taking his word that nearly everything wrong in their lives was Cazador’s fault? Would it matter if it were true? Evidently, Astarion couldn’t always be trusted to control his own actions. Anyone sensible would deem him a threat and cast him away. Elganon was eccentric and at times naïve, but surely even he had his limits. Astarion remembered their first encounter well. When Elganon sensed danger radiating from the pale elf, he ran away.

Gods… What if one night, Astarion lost his senses again like this and tried to murder Elganon in his sleep? What was stopping Cazador from taking control of his will, and forcing him to choke the life out of the one living creature that he loved as he watched, helpless to do anything while his partner begged and cried for him to stop?

How was Cazador doing this? The tadpole was supposed to render Astarion immune—or at least resistant—from the compulsion to obey his will. But now Cazador was capable of puppeteering him again. Not to the degree that he once had, but if Astarion could be forced to kill—if he could be made to do things that lead to someone’s death…

It was too late to do the right thing and save Benny now. He’d already drank from his flagon, and Astarion wasn’t going to stop him to begin with, if he were honest with himself.

Cazador was right. A part of him _did_ want the half-orc out of the way. More importantly, he feared how Elganon might react if he’d told the truth. He couldn’t know, and Benny had to die to keep that secret.

_I’m sorry, Benny. You should have stayed away. You shouldn’t have come back into Elganon’s life. Not so long as I’m in it…_

Guilt overwhelmed Astarion as he heard Cazador’s amused cackle echoing in his mind once again. The elf drank from his own glass to drown his sorrows, but the wine tasted bitter in his mouth. Regardless of his jealousy and all their bickering, he was going to miss Benny. Astarion used to think of half-orcs as uncouth and brutish, but Benny was a beautiful soul. A bit rough around the edges, but truly a person with his heart in the right place. Meanwhile, Astarion wondered if he ever had a heart himself. He could see himself doing something like this back when he was alive, after all.

In life, Astarion barely loved anything outside of himself, but as a vampire spawn, Cazador made it impossible for him to ever try. What was the point, when his master would inevitably crush it under heel to break what little of a spirit he had left? It could be a person, an animal, a trinket—it didn’t matter. If it made Astarion happy, and he hadn’t behaved well enough at some point, it would be destroyed right in front of his eyes to teach him a harsh lesson.

Astarion conceded that he had many sins to pay for, but was it fair that he was locked in a living nightmare in which he could never fully repay them? Where the interest on his debts piled up faster than they could be repaid? How much would he have to lose in exchange for forgiveness? Did Cazador really care about the extent to which he lived such a wicked life, or was that simply another method of manipulating him into believing that his torment was fully deserved, to coerce him into taking it without putting up much of a fight?

Elganon wasn’t aware of the apologetic look on Astarion’s face when their eyes met again. The vampire, now his fiancé, had sentenced his best friend to death, and he didn’t even know.

_I’m sorry, Elganon…_

Cazador’s presence lingered and spoke to Astarion one last time before departing from his mind.

_He’ll never forgive you, you know. You are a monster, like it or not. You’re my monster, and you chose this fate for yourself. This is why you should return to me. There isn’t a place for creatures like you among the living. You’re a wolf among sheep. Come home to me, my dear. Do it willingly, and I may, just this once, spare you the lash._

“How are my dear boys doing?”

Astarion glanced up from his cup to see Madam Mum standing beside their table, beaming brightly at his group. He feigned a smile, hiding how sick he was with himself. “We’re doing fantastic, Mum. Your hospitality is…greatly appreciated!”

“Astarion, you look even paler than usual!” she noted. Her mind filled in the blanks for him, and the grin returned to her face. “You’re nervous, aren’t you? About the prospect of becomin’ a married man. Oh, dear, it’s nothing to be anxious about! You’ll make a fine husband for Little Elgy here!”

The vampire winced, tensing his body when she pulled both him and Elganon into a tight hug, kissing their foreheads and tousling their hair. He yearned for the night to be over with. In the past few months, he’d slowly unlearned how to perfectly steel his nerves in the face of his monstrous deeds. He was right back where he started prior to being kidnapped by the mind flayers: Operating as Cazador’s tool again, sending good people right to their doom while masquerading as a friend.

He wanted to cry into Mum’s ample breast as she hugged him close, like Elganon had in the past. But instead, he smiled. Plastering a smile on his face tricked himself into believing that all was well. It kept him sane when he was going mad with grief on the inside.

_Pathetic_.

Cazador’s voice continued to haunt him, but this time it was only a memory that resounded in his mind.

_As always. But at least you know your place._

It was foolish to think that he could ever be free. Free of Cazador. Free of his rules. Free to make friends or find love that would last.

_You are mine. Forever._

* * *

“I know you’re eager to see what you’ve become, dear boy, but no matter how long you stare, you’ll never see yourself in that thing.”

Benny put his back to the standing mirror that reflected no image but the room around him, facing Cazador again. This was all too bizarre to be happening, he thought. He’d been led to a crumbled, half-burned manor in the middle of Tumbledown’s cemetery by the mysterious stranger who “saved” him from the poison that was killing him. Now, he simultaneously felt better than he ever had before, yet sickeningly wrong somehow.

He couldn’t believe it. This Cazador person really did exist and wasn’t just some name Astarion pulled out of a hat to pin all his woes upon in a way that reminded Benny of the days when Elganon insisted his own imaginary friend was the architect of his peculiar behaviors. 

Even so, Benny remained cautious about wholeheartedly accepting every word that Astarion fed to him about the enigmatic man. Astarion lied often, and although Benny vividly recalled Cazador assaulting him—murdering him, even—clearly, he was still alive. He thought he was, anyway.

“I feel…cold. Like I’ve got the chills,” said Benny, shaking as he held himself. Rubbing his arms did nothing to warm him. Was he coming down with some ailment? Did the poison leave him weak after he was cured of its effects?

“You’ll get used to it, in time,” Cazador assured him, coming closer to place a hand on his arm.

Something about the man’s face made Benny trust him. Perhaps it was the intense look in his bright red eyes that the mercenary perceived as concern. Few people ever showed Benny empathy.

“I don’t wish to alarm you, Benjamin, but I’ve turned you into a vampire,” Cazador said regretfully. “While I realize that this is hardly ideal, I’m afraid there was no other way. No antidote would have saved you in time.”

So, Benny was like Astarion now: A monster. _Fantastic._

The half-orc touched his own face, reeling at how alien his body felt. It was like being in someone else’s skin. Then, he accidentally pricked his finger on the sharp canine that poked out from between his cleft lip. He never remembered his teeth being so pointed. It didn’t hurt when he injured himself on the tooth, either. It was a dull feeling. Everything in his body was muted, from the colors of his features to his emotions. A pulse stirred the senses, and now he lacked one. What moved him now, he wondered? Was it magic that made him feel anything at all still? Memory? Wishful thinking?

“I know that Astarion must have told you that I’m a wicked man.” Cazador paced around Benny, picking up the cloth from the floor to drape it over the mirror. He was aware that the inability to see their reflections caused the new vampire spawn undue duress. “Some of that is true, but I think you’ll find that I’m not unreasonable, nor nonsensical.”

The vampire lord beckoned the half-orc to follow, and without having to put any thought into it, Benny’s legs automatically obeyed at the curling of Cazador’s finger. They sat together on a faded couch, and Cazador crossed one leg over his lap, clasping his hands together upon his knee. For a moment, the only sound was the crackle of the lit fireplace in front of them, until Cazador spoke again. His dour, serious expression had Benny enraptured with every word he had to say.

“Everything I’ve ever done has been out of pragmatism. Pragmatism that Astarion, unfortunately, lacks the capability of understanding. I’m sure you know by now of his spoiled nature. He’s used to the world revolving around his whims, and it’s blinded him to the reality that sacrifices often need to be made in order to get by. _You_ understand the weight of responsibility, though, don’t you, Benjamin? You’re a natural born leader yourself, and you have carried that weight your entire life.”

Benny was taken aback. “How do you know that? ‘ave we met before?”

It was true that the mercenary didn’t always remember the name of every lord or merchant he served when he was hired for a job. He thought that maybe his services were once purchased by this man, and he simply had forgotten. It seemed unlikely, though, that he’d ever forget such a striking visage.

Cazador smiled, scooting closer to touch Benny’s arm again. It was a calculated gesture, like a cat rubbing its scent upon its property with its face. The familiarity bred a stronger sense of confidence, and though Benny didn’t normally like to have his personal space invaded by someone he hardly knew, it was as if he and Lord Szarr were old friends reunited.

“We share a bond now, you and I,” the vampire lord explained in a gentle, hypnotic voice. “Emotionally. Spiritually.” He came closer until their thighs touched. “Physically.”

Benny’s gaze dropped to his boots, listening to the sound of wood being snapped and broken by the embers in the fireplace. He felt that he, too, was being whittled down in some manner, but he couldn’t explain how. Something about Cazador’s aura suppressed his own, swallowing it whole and asserting dominance. He never experienced anything like it. On occasion, there were some people who intimidated him in the past or at least gave him pause, but he’d never let even the most frightening of figures render him as powerless and humble as he was now.

There was an exception, but that had been so long ago. Whenever he got himself into deep trouble with Mum as a young man, her well-intended lectures made him shrink with shame. That was exactly what this sensation was like. He was a grown man now—strong and tall—yet Cazador’s mere presence rendered him as vulnerable as a child all over again.

“Don’t look so glum, my dear boy.” Cazador put his hand on the half-orc’s thigh, patting it comfortingly. This touch made Benny’s skin crawl, like spiders were creeping through his veins. “I understand. It’s frightening to be known, but I promise you that I’ll do everything in my power to help you adapt to your new existence. You shan’t be left without guidance.”

Cazador raised his hand from Benny’s lap to grasp the mercenary’s chin and tilted the mournful face in his direction. Benny resisted, but eventually he had no choice but to look his new master in the eye.

“I cannot _believe_ that my Astarion has called you ugly,” said Cazador, tsking the idea. “He’s quite shallow. I, however, see you as you truly are on the inside.”

Benny’s eyes followed Cazador’s finger as it trailed down his neck and to his exposed collarbone where his shirt was open, wracking his mind over the lord’s intentions, especially when Cazador withdrew his hand. “Aye?”

Cazador nodded his head, yet he proceeded to change the subject. “But forgive my blatant marveling. You must be famished. Would you like something to drink?”

“Er, I mean, I just _had_ a few drinks, m’lord. An’ after the poisoning, I’m a little put off drinkin’ for a while,” Benny explained, edging closer to the arm of the couch to create some space in between them.

His master threw his head back and laughed. “I meant a _real_ drink, darling.”

Benny blinked, canting his head.

Cazador got up and took Benny by the hand, leading him out of the room and down a narrow corridor that was dank with mildew and rot. The lord snatched a torch from the wall, using it to light their way along the darker areas. Benny assumed that his master’s vision was as keen—if not more so—than his was now, but perhaps Cazador had some reason for needing the added illumination.

Neither men said a word as the hallway seemed to stretch on forever the further that they traversed it. They descended a long flight of stairs, and soon Benny understood that he was being taken to the servants’ quarters. Now he grasped the purpose of Cazador bringing the torch with them. It wasn’t so that _they_ could see in the darkness. The torch was needed for the huddled mass of people crammed into the tiny, lightless chamber they entered to see _them_. And they were afraid. So very afraid. 

Benny couldn’t blame them. What a way to die. _Fucking Hells…_

* * *

_Little doll…_

Elganon paused in his task, peering around the room until it became apparent that the voice was coming from inside his head. He smiled wide when it dawned on him who it was.

_Lord Murmyr?_

_Yes, it is I. Forgive my absence. I hope you aren’t blaming yourself for it. I’ve been very preoccupied as of late. Anyway, I wanted to congratulate you on your recent engagement to your…sweetheart._

_Oh, thank you, Lord Murmyr. Here I thought you’d come to hate Astarion. It’s not as if he’s replaced you, I promise. I’ll always have time for you as well._

The mountain dwarf that Elganon was performing surgery on in the apothecary’s back room lifted his head, dazed from sedatives and excruciating pain. He ripped the rag that he was biting into to lessen his agony from his mouth so that he could speak.

“Why in blazes did ye stop? Hells, if I knew this was goin’ tae be a torture session, I’d have—”

“So-Sorry, sorry.” Elganon’s hands shook as he attempted to thread the needle picked up from the tray next to him, but eventually he managed. “I’m almost done. Just lay back down and be still.”

“This new liver had better be—”

“It’s _fairly_ fresh! We _just_ dug it up yesterday, and the old woman it belonged to wasn’t really known to drink…”

“Whot?”

Elganon had a way of revealing too much when he was nervous, which was practically all the time. He put his hand on the dwarf’s chest, lowering him against the examination table. “Please, sir, lay back down. It’s nearly over with.”

Halfway through Elganon’s sewing, the dwarf passed out from the pain, as he had earlier when the old organ was being taken out for the new one to be put in. It wasn’t abnormal for patients to slip in and out of consciousness during these procedures, although the work was much easier when they were out cold. At least when they were awake, Elganon could tell for certain if they were still alive or not. 

Should a patient die on the operating table, Orebos taught him a necromantic spell he’d learned from the two Red Wizards that would revive the subject—giving them another chance at life, but it had to be done quickly and the patient could still die a second time of their injuries if what endangered them hadn’t been stopped. 

Though necromancy was particularly effective on the undead, some spells in that school of magic that benefitted the living as well. Those were the kinds of things Elganon wanted to use his magic for, not creating armies of skeletons and zombies. He might not have the best bedside manner, nor empathized all too much with his charges, but it felt like he’d done the right thing whenever someone could get up from the table and live for a little bit longer than they were going to before he helped them.

“Lad,” Orebos said when he burst into the small room, allowing the door to slam into the wall, wooden boards shivering as it rocked on its hinges. “When yer done, I got somethin’ else fer ya tae do.”

Elganon sighed, pausing in his stitching to acknowledge his father figure. “What is it?” he said with impatience leaking out.

“Need ye an’ Frilly tae help Mum bring ‘er things o’er,” the duergar explained, sticking his thumbs into the loops of his belt.

“So, she _is_ moving in with us, then?”

“Aye.”

The tower was becoming more and more like a veritable inn. Granted, there were many rooms that had had long gone unused. Sometimes Elganon forgot that the place was larger than it seemed because of how neglected some of its nooks and crannies were left. There were still rooms he’d yet to see the inside of; they were locked by key or magic, and there were some areas upon which he’d touch only the handle of the door leading inside, and when he’d felt the ominous dread travel up his arm, decided it was best to let a few sleeping secrets lie.

“Right…” Elganon finished sealing up the opening in his dwarven patient’s skin.

* * *

“Your father could have at _least_ sent Vaylen or Rook with us to help,” Astarion grumbled as he and his lover headed for the brothel, traveling through the once-confusing alleyway.

Elganon’s eyes were distant, staring at the path ahead of them and lost in thought. “I wish Benny hadn’t left…”

The vampire winced, directing his gaze forward himself. “Y-Yes, well…” He rummaged through his head for an alibi. “Friends grow apart sometimes when their lives go in opposite directions. That’s simply the way the world works, darling, but you’ll always have me.” 

Would he?

“Yeah, I guess so…”

The lackluster reply laced with disappointment wounded Astarion’s pride, but he knew he shouldn’t take it too seriously. Elganon probably wasn’t lucid of what he was saying right now in his distraction.

“We could have asked someone from our party to come and help,” Elganon mumbled. “I’m sure at least one of them would have.”

“I’d rather not be in any debt to them,” Astarion replied. “If it weren’t for our worm problem, I wouldn’t want to travel with any of them at all. I don’t see how you can stand the way they look at us with fear and dread. And in your case—” Astarion trailed off when he saw the self-conscious frown appear on Elganon’s lips. He didn’t need to remind his partner that people saw him as pathetic—as a burden. Elganon was already keenly aware of that fact, hence why he avoided speaking to the companions they acquired before arriving to Baldur’s Gate whenever he could.

Astarion could relate. He was disliked from the very beginning, too, and that only got worse when it came out that he was a vampire. Never would they trust him, and he would have thought them to be foolish if they did. Elganon was a fool for trusting him, but Astarion loved him for it. If only their relationship wasn’t so…detrimental to the half-elf’s already chaotic life. Elganon clearly had problems before he met Astarion, and since they had gotten together, things had headed further south.

But as much as Astarion knew it might be the right thing to do, he wouldn’t leave him. He couldn’t bear to. Without Elganon, he would have nobody, except for perhaps the snake familiar that had taken a liking to him, though he doubted Charming was going to remain with him forever. 

Though freedom from Cazador was a great relief, while it lasted, Astarion concluded after falling in love with Elganon that enduring fate’s trials all alone—truly alone this time, if he could keep his old master at bay—would be hard. Impossible, even. 

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t keep surviving on the run from his past and his nature as a monster being the only one to watch his own back. The constant paranoia and fear would drain him—make him unwilling to keep going. He’d eventually cave and decide that living like this, as an abomination, wasn’t worth it if no moment could ever be enjoyed—if he could never relax and take the time to bask in the sunlight and stop to smell the roses every now and again.

Having someone at his side helped. He simply wished it didn’t come at the cost of dragging the person he loved down with him to whichever pit his unnatural existence slipped into along the way. But it couldn’t be helped, could it? One didn’t survive for as long as Astarion had through selflessness and “doing the right thing”, whatever that consisted of.

No sound emitted from the brothel when they arrived at its entrance. Bards sang no songs, nor strummed any lutes. Laughter and chatter didn’t resonate from the patrons nor prostitutes alike. The door handle felt eerily cold when Elganon grasped the ring to pull it open.

* * *

* * *

Everyone inside was dead.

It was a massacre. Blood stained nearly every surface that the pair could see. The floors, the furniture, the paintings… Body parts were littered everywhere, and a trail of bloody footprints led up the stairs.

With the shock and morbid curiosity of someone traversing a horrific and surreal dream, the lovers held hands as Astarion guided them upward to see whatever awaited on the top floor. Elganon’s grip tightened around Astarion’s hand, with his thumb rubbing across the engagement ring on his fiancé’s finger.

What a horrible way to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "And I don't care if you don't want me. I'm yours right now. I put a spell on you because you're mine."
> 
> Recommended Listening: I Put a Spell On You by Screamin' Jay Hawkins


	23. Mine Own Spawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What was going on upstairs in the brothel?

* * *

* * *

Astarion and Elganon jumped when they heard an aggravated shriek from behind the only shut bedroom door on the second floor of the brothel before either of them could peek inside. It was Madam Mum’s voice.

“Gandrel, you give me that crossbow! He’s _my_ son, and if anyone’s going to put him down, it ought to be me!”

“Mum, have reason!” said a male voice. “I’ll handle the beast; you escape out the window!”

Mum’s voice rose to a louder pitch. “Don’t call him that! He’s still my son, damn you!”

Elganon lurched forward and yanked open the door. Benny was standing on the other side, back facing him and Astarion. When the half-orc peered over his shoulder, it became immediately apparent that something was wrong. He looked terribly unwell, pale as a ghost and eyes as red as Astarion’s.

Astarion gasped, jerking his partner closer towards himself. “Elganon, get back! He’s a vampire spawn!”

“What?!” Elganon cried, clinging to the elf’s chest.

A crossbow bolt sailed across the room and pierced Benny in the ribs, missing his heart by an inch. The half-orc winced only out of irritation rather than pain as he gripped the shaft of the bolt and pulled it out. He glared back at the monster hunter that shielded Mum with his body, tossing the bolt at the hunter’s feet.

Elganon and Astarion recognized the man; it was the monster hunter that was looking to bring Astarion back to Cazador. They encountered him in a swamp all the way back in Elturgard. Astarion wanted the Gur dead for his own safety, but Elganon insisted that they would instead lead him astray, sparing his life, but leading him on a wild goose chase. It seemed he eventually gave up and found his way back to the city, luckily for Mum.

When Benny walked towards his assailant, Gandrel, the monster hunter, hurried to load up another shot in his crossbow. As the Gur man was pulling the string taut, he was lifted by his throat, and the crossbow clattered to the ground.

Mum made a move to pick it up and finish loading it herself, aiming it straight underneath her adoptive son’s neck. “You put him down this instant, Benny, or I swear I’ll—”

Though Benny’s grip remained firm on the man’s neck, his eyes were mournful when he acknowledged the woman’s demand. “I don’t wanna do any of this, Mum. Trust me when I tell you that I don’t…”

Gandrel pulled at the fingers that tightened around his neck, kicking, and fighting for air. His gaze turned to Astarion, clearly recognizing his and Elganon’s faces, pleading for help.

Astarion drew his dagger and leaped on Benny’s back, putting one arm around the half-orc’s throat while pressing the dagger to his flesh as a warning. “Benny, listen to your mother. You’re surrounded now. Don’t be a fool. Drop the man and surrender.”

Benny looked to see if Elganon, too, was prepared to fight against him, and noticed that the timid half-elf was already channeling necromantic magic into his hands. He sighed and dropped the Gur, then put away the sword held in his other palm, raised his hands in the air to show that he was unwilling to be the cause of any more bloodshed.

“It’s too late, you know,” Benny warned when Astarion cautiously climbed down from him and Mum took a few steps backward, never lowering the crossbow. “We’re all fucked.”

“What do you mean?” Astarion spat, taking on a crouched posture with his dagger held forward defensively.

“I reckon it won’t be long before Cazador has all the souls he needs,” Benny explained vaguely.

Astarion blinked at him. “For what?”

The mercenary regarded Elganon, who was no longer whispering his spell. “Elg… Do you ever still talk to that “imaginary friend” of yours?”

* * *

“Any luck with the portal?” rasped the massive demon at the table, who served himself another cup of sweetened tea.

“Patience. It’s coming along well, I assure you.” From where he was seated at the table, Cazador examined the putrid garden around him, finding himself quite at home in Lord Murmyr’s realm. He had to remind himself that he was not truly here in body, only in mind, but it felt so realistic, down to the scent of wilting flowers mixed with decaying flesh. “It shouldn’t be much longer before you’ll be able to step foot into the mortal realm.”

“Wonderful.” Murmyr cackled, sipping his hot tea, and smiled to himself. “I haven’t been to the mortal realm in ages. It was much easier when I was smaller and…less powerful. But now…” The demon shook his head. “A vampire’s lair is the perfect place to open a portal into the Abyss, wouldn’t you say? I can’t believe the idea hadn’t occurred to me sooner.”

The vampire lord’s frown became more severe as he crossed one leg over the other in his chair. “There’s plenty of land on my estate, but so long as it doesn’t become a nuisance, I’ll allow it.”

“Lord Szarr,” Murmyr cooed. He reached out to touch the vampire’s shoulder, but his hand was instantly shrugged off and his gesture received with a glower. For a moment, Mumyr looked infuriated by the rejection of his doting ways, insincere as they were, but then he pretended to be rather nonchalant about Cazador’s prickliness. “Ahem, well, you’re going to have _plenty_ of land, once we’ve taken the city. I doubt you’ll _want_ to spend much time in those soggy old crypts anymore, so you’ll barely remember that my portal is even around.”

“Those “soggy old crypts” have been my domain for generations, demon, and I take great pride in my holdings, just as you do yours.” Cazador’s eyes wandered back to the assortment of taxidermy creatures posed around the area.

Murmyr took notice of the vampire’s interest in his trophies. “Like my collection, do you? You mentioned that you’re a hunter yourself—”

“It’s in the name.”

“Right.” Murmyr chuckled. “At any rate, I was going to say: maybe once all of this is said and through, we should go hunting sometime. Here, in my realm. You’ll be able to use the portal, too, after all.”

“And help you slay more of your competition?” It didn’t elude Cazador that what he was looking at—these “trophies—were the desecrated bodies of other greater demons.

“We’ll be dealing with _yours_ first, of course! But afterward…”

“I’ll consider it.”

“It’ll be fun!” Murmyr sloshed tea onto himself when he threw his arms up joyously.

“Don’t push your luck.” Cazador fastidiously brushed away the droplets of tea that spilled onto his tunic, then folded his arms, looking up at the demon with such a stern expression that one might think that _he_ was the bigger one. “Need I remind you that, so far, I’ve been doing more for you than you have for me?”

“I told you, Lord Szarr: I can do more for you once I’m in your realm.” A low, warning rumble came from Murmyr’s throat. His temper was as short as his guest’s. “Aren’t you pleased that my boon has allowed you to regain access to the mind of that vampire spawn of yours?”

“True. But acquiring the reagents necessary for your portal hasn’t been cheap, nor has the task of reaping the souls required to power it via the beacon been easy.” Cazador was unflinching in his stare down with the demon. “I have no doubt that Benjamin’s actions tonight will spark an investigation, and that will be an even greater burden on me.”

Murmyr rolled his many eyes and waved two of his hands. “No one is going to miss a few whores and deplorables,” he insisted. “My little doll told me that the city has been trying to shut that brothel down for years now.” He picked a sugar cube up from a bowl and nibbled at it with his teeth, his sudden rapid movements revealing to the vampire his growing anxiety. “The local guard will look the other way.”

“I hope that, for your sake, you’re right.” Cazador pointed an accusing finger at the beast. “Because if anyone comes sniffing around my land looking for answers, I’m dismantling the soul beacon, and this whole deal will be off.”

“There’s no need for that,” said Murmyr, gnawing through a second cube plucked from the bowl. “Trust me, you’ve nothing to worry about.” He lapped at the grains of sugar stuck to his yellowed teeth and ground his jaw.

The vampire huffed, getting up from his chair. “If you say so, but I still reserve my right to doubt. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get back to dealing with matters related to the plan that we discussed.”

* * *

“You’re joking…” Elganon gave Benny a mortified look, tears running down his face once he heard his friend’s hasty explanation of current events. “Lord Murmyr would never betray me.” The half-elf sniffled, fidgeting with his hands. “He loves me. You must be mistaking him for another demon.”

Both Gandrel and Mum were alarmed by the mention of a demon. Mum was aware of Elganon’s penchant for muttering to himself, which never went away as he grew older, but to hear that he was talking to a demon this entire time was unthinkable! She always knew that not everyone who played a role in his upbringing was a good influence, but she wasn’t sure who to blame here.

“Do you know any other by the same name?” Benny asked, seeming just as unhappy about having to deliver the upsetting news. “Cazador was in some sort of trance—the kind that you always got into—and he was muttering to someone named Murmyr. Something about a portal. I don’t really know what it all meant, but it sounded bad. Really bad. For all of us.”

“I told you that “patron” of yours was nothing but trouble!” Astarion said to Elganon, who winced self-consciously at the reminder of his partner’s frequent warnings.

“This has to be a misunderstanding,” Elganon said, remaining in denial. “Maybe…maybe Cazador’s tricked him somehow. Maybe that’s the _real_ reason Lord Murmyr hasn’t been talking to me.” He wiped underneath his running eyes, aware that he was bargaining with himself for a better truth. “I don’t know,” he croaked, miserable about this whole mess.

“Demons, Elganon? Really?” Mum hissed. “Why didn’t you ever tell me about this?”

Elganon lowered his head. “I’ll explain it all to you later, Mum. It’s complicated, but I think you’ll understand why I bargained with one.”

Gandrel chuckled. “That’s what they all say.”

Mum popped the monster hunter in the back of the head with her hand. “As if you’re one to talk! Gandrel, do you know who this man is?” She handed Gandrel back his crossbow, then gestured to Astarion.

The monster hunter looked over the elf once again, keeping his crossbow aimed towards the floor. “I don’t _know_ him, but I remember his face.”

“ _That’s_ Astarion, Ganny,” Mum grumbled. She put her hand on the crossbow as soon as the monster hunter tried to point it at the elf, pushing it back down. “No, don’t you _dare_ hurt him; he is a _friend_.”

Gandrel stared at the madam, aghast. “Mum, I don’t understand why you’re standing up for two monsters! They’re not like us; whoever they were in the past, they’ve changed, and you need to be willing to accept that, even if the truth hurts.”

Benny and Astarion silently took offense to the hunter’s words, the former now understanding the latter’s plight.

“Gandrel,” Mum said, losing her patience. “That new employer of yours: who are they?”

“I…”

“Ganny, do you even know who’s paying you right now?” she demanded, stomping her foot.

The monster hunter’s face paled. “Some nobleman here in the city…”

“My master,” Astarion answered for him. “Cazador Szarr. It can’t possibly be anyone else.”

“ _Our_ master, I suppose,” said Benny, catching Astarion’s gaze. They both found that fact to be surreal. Now that he knew how it felt to be a vampire firsthand, Benny couldn’t imagine being as unsympathetic to Astarion as he was in the past.

“That’s not possible,” Gandrel stammered, shaking his head. “That would mean—”

“Cazador was using you to fetch me for him,” said Astarion. “He didn’t expect you to survive the attempt, either, I imagine. Sending you was just his way of trying to scare me.”

“I feel like an idiot…” Gandrel covered his forehead with his palm, squeezing the handle of his crossbow in the other.

Benny began to look uneasy himself, but for an entirely different reason. His body was trembling, and he fought to maintain control over his own movements. “Shite,” he muttered. “He’s in my head again. Everybody, get back—”

“Who…who’s in your head, Benny?” Elganon asked, about to approach him until Astarion tugged him away again. “Astarion, let go of me! He needs our help! I can help him!”

“No, you can’t!” Astarion barked, keeping his hold on Elganon as the half-elf attempted to break free from his grasp. “Listen to me! He’s under Cazador’s control now! The only thing we can do to help him is to slay Cazador! Your magic won’t help him!”

Gandrel brought up his crossbow again, but the half-orc slapped it from his hands and punched him in the jaw, laying him out on the floor. Then, Benny unsheathed one sword and rushed towards Astarion with it.

Astarion did all he could to deflect the mercenary’s blade each time it came down using only his dagger, while he had one arm wrapped around Elganon’s waist, but he hadn’t predicted that Benny would then strike him with an elbow to the face. 

Astarion’s vision clouded with fuzzy speckles, and he heard Elganon, who’d been ripped from his arms, shriek as he was taken from him. The elf stumbled forward, feeling around with his free hand, but he only found Mum, who caught him before he tripped over one of the uneven floorboards. 

Once Astarion could see clearly again, he was greeted with the visual of Benny shattering a window with the handle of his sword before leaping out of it with Elganon slung over his shoulder. Mum hauled Astarion over to the broken window so that they could both look out of it, but neither Benny nor Elganon were anywhere to be seen.

“Benny was never that fast before,” Mum said, baffled by how quickly the two men had disappeared into the night. “He really has changed, hasn’t he? Oh, Gods, I can’t believe any of what’s happened!” She bit back her tears.

Gandrel got up slowly, checking to see if any of his teeth came loose. He wiped away the blood running down his busted lip. “I’m going after them,” he said, groaning in pain.

Astarion looked to the monster hunter in disbelief. “What? Why would _you_ want to help?”

“Mum cares a lot about Elg, and she’s still from my tribe, even if she left our people a long time ago,” Gandrel said, stuffing the bolts scattered on the floor back into his quiver while the blood gushing from his lip spilled into his beard. “And she cares about Benny, too, monster or not, evidently. Dunno if I’ll be able to save either of them, but I need to make up for my own stupidity. The least I can do is try.”

“If you ask me, going out there by yourself is twice as stupid,” Mum snapped, keeping the dizzy Astarion supported under her arm. “There’s been enough death in one night, Ganny. Don’t go get yourself killed for nothing when we barely survived just now.”

“She’s right,” Astarion agreed, and he couldn’t believe he was taking her side on this matter. What did he care if some Gur, who had been hunting him up until now, got the life sucked out of him by one of Cazador’s minions before he even stepped foot inside the crypts?

“I’m not going alone,” Gandrel explained, brushing the hair out of his face with his fingers. “I’m going to get help from my tribe.”

“They’ll get butchered all the same, you know,” Astarion said, sheathing his dagger. “And besides, you don’t even know where Cazador’s lair is, do you?”

“We’ll track Benny back to it,” Gandrel retorted. “We have our ways.”

Astarion scoffed at the monster hunter’s ill-placed confidence. “You’re kidding no one; you couldn’t even find me! And do you think Cazador’s survived for this long on pure luck? No, he’s done so because he has _his_ ways of dealing with idiots like _you_.” He left Mum’s side to stride over to Gandrel, wobbling once along the way, though he didn’t let that lapse of elegance wound his ego. “Fortunately for you, I _do_ know how to get around the various traps Cazador has laid around his domain, and I’m coming with you, along with some help of my own.”

Gandrel grinned a little. “Are you now?”

“Yes.” Astarion frowned. “At least, I’m _fairly_ certain that they’ll accompany me…”

The monster hunter clapped Astarion on the back proudly. “Well, then, vampire spawn, let’s be off. You’ll get your people ready, and I’ll go get mine.”

“I’m coming with you, too!” Mum announced, putting her fists on her hips to show how determined she was.

Gandrel frowned at the madam. “Mum—"

There was a ruckus as something stirred within the wardrobe beside the monster hunter, and shortly after, Mimsy fell out of the doors as they flung open, covered in a heap of lingerie that dropped from the hangers.

“Me, too,” said Mimsy, who was shaking both with lingering fear and fury; she’d heard everything that transpired while she was hiding within the wardrobe. “Take me with you,” she demanded while untangling herself from the pile of skimpy clothing.

“Ladies,” said Gandrel, looking between the two women pleadingly, “you should get to somewhere that’s safe. Vampires are _extremely_ dangerous creatures!”

“Gandrel,” Mimsy snapped, “everyone downstairs is dead. _Nowhere_ is safe while that…while that _Cazador_ person is around. And if he’s turned Benny into a monster, and if he took Elganon, then I want him _dead_ , do you hear me?”

Mimsy wept into her hands angrily, though her tears began to lessen when Mum came to pat her on the back. She embraced the madam until she had the strength to stand and compose herself. Her eyes were left reddened, but she radiated a greater deal of confidence now that she was sure of what must be done.

When Gandrel saw that look in Mimsy’s eyes, he wondered if he should concede to her wishes.

“What do you think, Astarion?” the monster hunter murmured to the elf. “Should we bring them along? Mimsy does have a point; I don’t know where we could hide what’s left of your master’s potential next targets. It seems like a bad idea to conveniently round them all up in one spot, but at least we could keep an eye on them if they’re with us.”

“Do either of them know how to fight?” Astarion asked, skeptical of the Gur’s wisdom.

“Dunno about Mimsy,” Gandrel admitted. “But Mum? Oh, yeah. She can definitely put up a fight.” He smiled as if recalling some distant memory.

Astarion shrugged, then said aloud with his arms held out, “The more the merrier, I suppose. Come along, ladies.” Before Astarion could push open the door, he turned to the women and grimly muttered, “Considering what awaits us downstairs, you may want to cover your eyes while we lead you down the steps and outside. And, as another personal bit of advice: if there’s one thing I learned how to do to keep myself moving forward in times like this, it’s to force myself to keep smiling, even as Cazador takes everything away from me.”

The vampire spawn could see the heartbreak in the women’s eyes as they nodded reluctantly at him. He took Mimsy’s hand, while Gandrel took Mum’s as they made their exit.

While they stepped over the mangled bodies scattered on the bottom floor, Astarion kept his chin up and smiled as brightly as he could, picturing in his head his fondest memories instead of the gory mess he was traipsing through.

Unfortunately, most of those memories were those he shared with Elganon. Suddenly, the smile felt heavy on his face and his eyes were getting wet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We passed upon the stair. We spoke of was and when. Although I wasn't there, he said I was his friend."
> 
> Recommended Listening: Man Who Sold the World by David Bowie

**Author's Note:**

> Kahira the Deep Gnome / Gnoblin is an OC who actually belongs to one of my friends who's given permission for me to go nuts with her characterization!


End file.
